"Suker! Just five minutes into the new season and he's already scored his first goal. His brilliant form continues. Since 2005, for five straight years, he's maintained a highly efficient and outstanding level of performance. Apart from one major injury, he's had no other issues, and his form has remained top-notch!"
Gonzalez couldn't help but marvel. "I think a lot of players are wondering—how does Suker manage to stay in this kind of form for so long? Looking at his insane stats, strikers across the professional football world are nearly driven mad!"
Just as Gonzalez said, Suker's incredible form has remained on a steady trajectory with hardly any fluctuations.
Other players might have a fantastic one or two seasons, then immediately drop off.
Whether due to injury, mentality, or other reasons, it's extremely rare to maintain such high-level performances for five years straight—especially with continuously improving stats. It leaves people speechless.
How can anyone compete with such a monster?
2007 Totti!2008 Cristiano Ronaldo!2009 Messi!2010 Sneijder!
They all tried to challenge Suker, but none of them made much headway.
Ronaldo and Messi are still chasing.
But Totti's form is long gone, and Sneijder hasn't looked too sharp in preseason or other matches this season.
That makes Suker the evergreen tree, while others keep coming one after another to challenge his throne.
For Suker, more challengers will come in the future, and what he needs to do is beat them—again and again—or simply outlast them.
When it comes to maintaining peak form, Suker fears no one.
If it weren't for the inevitable physical decline after age 30, Suker might have shouted, "I'll play until I'm 50!"
Suker's goal intensified the pressure on Mallorca.
They were playing at home, facing Real Madrid, yet the away team had scored first. The situation was getting worse for them.
They had to focus on defense now.
"Stop Suker!"
Mallorca began adjusting their tactics.
Last season had already proven that triple-marking could limit Suker, so they assigned three players specifically to shadow him.
When the match restarted—
Suker immediately felt two more players around him, and a third lurking close by, ready to pounce.
He curled his lips.
Here comes the insane triple-team again!
If this were last season, Suker would have been figuring out how to break free.
But now…
Suker glanced to the other side.
Kaká was also looking at Suker.
They locked eyes. Suker shrugged, signaling that this side was blocked.
Kaká gave a slight nod and started to drop back.
If the left flank is shut down, we'll go right instead!
This Real Madrid side plays with both wings firing—a double-wing attack strategy!
The left wing has terrifying power!
The right wing isn't far behind!
Bang!
Kaká received the ball in the half-space, turned around, glanced toward Benzema. Srna was already overlapping on the flank.
But Kaká didn't pass. Instead, he gently nudged the ball forward and started dribbling laterally along the edge of the penalty box.
Suker watched from afar. His job was to draw Mallorca's defenders and keep them from pressuring Kaká.
Then, after two lateral strides, Kaká suddenly cut the ball forward and unleashed a powerful left-footed shot.
The shot came out of nowhere.
Mallorca's goalkeeper didn't even react—his line of sight was partially blocked by his own teammates.
All he saw was a white blur before the net rippled.
Next second, Kaká turned and ran toward the corner flag, head tilted upward, both index fingers pointing skyward.
Kaká's signature prayer celebration.
"Ohhhh what a goal!! Kaká! God, I didn't even see it coming—I thought he was going to pass, but instead he shot!"
"From our angle, it looked like the shot snuck right between two central defenders. The gap was narrow, but Kaká found it. Brilliant!"
"Mallorca shifted their defensive focus to the left wing, but that just activated Kaká. With little pressure, he helped Real Madrid score again in the 21st minute!"
WOW!!!!!!!!!! —
Over two thousand Real Madrid fans erupted in joy.
Kaká's performance had them thrilled.
Last season, when Suker was often tightly marked, Real Madrid struggled to free him up.
But now—that might not be such a bad thing!
If too many resources are used to mark Suker, it opens up the field for Kaká.
With Real Madrid's double-wing attack, unless you shut down both flanks simultaneously, you'll constantly be under threat—and possibly concede goals.
And stopping both Suker and Kaká at once? Near impossible.
Real Madrid's attack isn't limited to the wings either—Kaká can play attacking midfield, and Suker can play center forward.
They also have a strong central axis.
Thinking about all this only made Madrid fans more excited—
"Who can stop us?"
"No one!"
"Kaká's getting better and better," Faria said with emotion.
Back in AC Milan, dragged down by the team's overall state, even Kaká's hard work wasn't enough to win games.
But ever since joining Real Madrid, he's exploded.
And with Suker—his old teammate—alongside him, this is no longer a case of 1 + 1 = 2.
Mourinho kept nodding.
Real Madrid's twin-wing strategy was starting to show real threat.
It wouldn't be long before Kaká's market value surged again.
At that point, Real Madrid would truly be "Two Billion Flying Together!"
Two goals in the first half gave Real Madrid a strong lead.
Of course, they didn't push too hard after that.
After this opening match, the league would pause briefly as players went off to join their national teams for Euro qualifiers. It was wise to conserve some energy.
In the second half, Mourinho began making substitutions.
Suker and Benzema were both taken off.
Di María and Adebayor got playing time.
Higuaín remained on the bench.
By now, Higuaín was on the fringes of the Real Madrid squad—it seemed he wouldn't be staying much longer.
After the changes, Real Madrid focused more on protecting the defense.
Following their experience in the Spanish Super Cup, the backline had gone through adjustments—
Not personnel changes, but small tactical tweaks.
Mourinho was satisfied with his defense.
Especially with backups like Arbeloa and Carvalho providing depth.
Even if Real Madrid wasn't a full-fledged "two-team luxury squad" just yet, it was already showing the traits of a top-tier club.
Not only do your starters need to be elite…
Your bench has to be solid too!
Soon, the match ended.
Real Madrid won 3–0 away at Mallorca.
Goals from Suker, Kaká, and Ramos sealed the season's first victory.
After the match, Mourinho didn't bother with a tactical review—he dismissed the players on the spot.
He understood that many were eager to join their national teams, and honestly, there wasn't much to analyze from this match. Dragging them into a late meeting wasn't a good habit.
The team dispersed.
Suker and Srna took a direct flight from Mallorca to Zagreb, Croatia's capital.
Upon arrival, Srna went straight home.
Suker, however, headed to Bešić's house.
"Surprise~~!!!"
Suker, holding a bouquet of flowers, embraced Bešić's wife, Beti, who looked delighted and surprised.
"Little Suker's gotten so tall," Betty looked up at him and shook her head. "I remember the first time I met you—you were shorter than me!"
Suker grinned.
He knew Betty meant well, but he still didn't like remembering his "short" days.
He walked inside—and saw Bešić at home too.
"You're here?" Suker asked, startled.
That question left Bešić speechless.
Should I not be? This is my house! If I'm not here, where should I be?
Suker quickly realized and scratched his head with a laugh. "I thought you'd be at the training base. Head coaches are always busy, right?"
Bešić rolled his eyes.
This brat was subtly calling him lazy again.
"He just got home today," Betty said, slightly complaining but also clearly proud. "Ever since becoming the national team coach, he's barely slept—hasn't been home for over two weeks."
"What's for dinner?" Suker asked.
Betty smiled. "What do you want to eat?"
"Corn porridge! Your corn porridge is the best!"
"That stuff's tasty?" Bešić looked baffled.
Suker: "Anything Aunt Betty makes is delicious."
Bešić rolled his eyes again.
Suker was the type who, if you treated him well, he'd return it tenfold—and fiercely take your side.
But he was also extremely vengeful. Cross him, and he wouldn't hold back.
And he was petty.
Before long, steaming hot corn porridge was served.
Suker devoured it with gusto. Betty beamed with joy.
After dinner, Betty went to the kitchen to do dishes, leaving Suker and Bešić in the living room.
They were quiet for a moment. Then Suker suddenly said, "Leave the car. I've liquidated the house and donated it under Aunt Betty's name to charity."
Bešić nodded. Suker was insanely stubborn—if he tried to take it all back, he'd probably throw a tantrum. Better to take what you get and leave it at that.
"Training starts tomorrow. Be ready."
"Am I playing?" Suker asked.
Croatia had drawn into Group F for the Euro qualifiers.
The group wasn't very strong—Greece, Israel, Latvia, Georgia, and Malta.
The first match was against Latvia.
"You'll definitely play in the first game. Don't worry, we'll sub you out in the second half. Wouldn't want your club complaining that I'm affecting your club performance."
Suker chuckled. "Then I'll try to score more in the first half!"
Bešić rolled his eyes.
Ding dong.
The doorbell rang.
Suker turned his head. "Expecting someone?"
"Just open the door and you'll see."
Suker walked over and opened it.
A blonde-haired kid rushed in.
"Coach! Why are you here?!"
It was Modrić, stunned to see Suker.
Suker raised an eyebrow. "Mind your own business!"
"Luka! Come on in!" Bešić called from inside.
Modrić quickly ran in.
"Coach, long time no see! Aunt Betty, long time no see!"
"Little Luka, you've gotten stronger… but, um, still not any taller, huh?"
Modrić's smile instantly collapsed.
Suker clutched his belly and laughed.
After a while, Suker noticed Modrić came empty-handed.
"Empty-handed? Seriously?"
Modrić looked embarrassed. "I-I'll bring something tomorrow!"
"Two gift cards. Load however much you want."
Suker took over.
Aunt Betty waved him off. "No need."
"Of course there's a need! Aunt Betty, this guy's making good money now—no need to save him a penny!"
They bantered and laughed.
Then Bešić, Suker, and Modrić sat on the couch. Aunt Betty had gone upstairs to rest.
"When I heard you were becoming our coach, I can't tell you how happy I was!" Modrić grinned ear to ear.
Suker ate a sugar cube. "How happy?"
"Really happy!"
"How happy is 'really happy'?"
"Just very—shut up, Suker!"
Bešić laughed as the two bickered. They'd always been like this.
Even now—playing for different elite clubs, world-famous stars—their relationship hadn't changed one bit.
They chatted about everything—
The Euros, the World Cup, club leagues, their current situations.
Then the topic returned to Croatia—and Bilic.
"How's Bilic doing?" Suker asked.
Ever since he exposed the Euro scandal, Bilic hadn't exactly been ruined, but public opinion turned harsh.
He'd been summoned by the Croatian FA multiple times.
The FA even asked for opinions from Suker, Modrić, and others.
But what opinions could they offer? It was all in the past.
Back then, everyone had their own stance.
But in the end, Suker had been right—and Croatia had won the European Championship.
"He resigned from all his roles. Now he's coaching in Bosnia."
Suker and Modrić exchanged glances.
"Which club?"
"Sarajevo," Bešić replied.
Suker sighed. "That's the same club where Skolk and Boame play. So life really is a circle."
Modrić asked, "Can't he coach in Croatia again?"
Bešić shook his head. "The fallout was too big. Even with support from me, Davor, and Boban, we couldn't get him reinstated."
Modrić asked, "What if Suker speaks up?"
Suker looked surprised. "What's this got to do with me?"
"You don't want to help him?"
"Nope." Suker shook his head. "I don't want to get dragged into that mess again."
Modrić pursed his lips. "Then maybe I'll speak up? I'm not as influential as you, but I can help."
Bešić waved his hand. "No need. Bilic doesn't want to return unless he earns it. He said if he comes back, it'll be through results—nothing else."
Suker sighed. "With his ability… that's going to be really hard."
Modrić stayed quiet—clearly, he agreed.
"Oh, right—I tried that oxygen-deprivation mask. It works, but we don't know how to train with it."
Bešić had tested it himself—after ten minutes, he almost passed out.
Took him a full day to recover.
He realized this kind of training can't be done casually. The mask needs to be calibrated with athlete data—which he didn't have.
"So… want me to introduce you to Pintus?"
Suker grinned. "He might not tell you anything!"
That was Pintus's ace method.
Even if Suker introduced them, Pintus likely wouldn't share his data.
"I'll pay," Bešić said seriously. "As Croatia's head coach, I'll sign an NDA. If needed, I'll be the only one to see it—not even my coaching staff will get access!"
Suker paused, then nodded. "Alright. I'll contact him when I get back—not like we need it immediately."
Bešić nodded.
Right now, time was too short to implement any fitness regime.
He planned to run a proper fitness bootcamp after the season ended during summer break.
Modrić was curious. "What's an oxygen-deprivation mask?"
Suker blinked and grinned wickedly.
"Something super fun!"
Modrić frowned. "That smile doesn't look trustworthy."
"No? I think I look thrilled!"
They chatted for a while longer.
Around 8:30 PM, Suker and Modrić said goodbye and left.
"Training starts tomorrow—be ready!" Suker said, hopping into Modrić's car.
"Take me home, please!"
Modrić rolled his eyes. He knew his shameless friend all too well.
He dropped Suker off at his estate in Zagreb, then drove home.
Suker returned, quickly showered, and packed.
The next week would be intensive training—they'd probably sleep in dorms, so he brought a change of clothes.
After packing, Suker finally went to bed.
The next morning, at Zagreb's national training center, the once-quiet base became lively again.
Even the weather seemed to welcome the cheerful young men—blue skies, white clouds, sunshine, and warmth filled the air.