First knockout round of the World Cup: Brazil vs Japan.
Throughout the match, the media and fans were almost unanimous in their attitude—Brazil would win.
Even Japan themselves admitted before the match that they were approaching it with a learning mindset.
To be fair, Japan's youth development system was truly impressive! From being a third-rate Asian team, they had gradually started to match the performances of top European teams. They could now even put up exciting performances against elite footballing nations.
At first, they followed a technical, possession-based style of play. But they quickly adapted and incorporated experience, shifting toward defensive counterattacks and high pressing—constantly aligning themselves with top tactical trends.
This helped Japanese football rise steadily, becoming a top-tier team in Asia, even surpassing the regional level at times.
However, the current Japanese squad still couldn't compete with Europe's elite—let alone the five-time World Cup champions, Brazil.
Even though Brazil was no longer in the era of Ronaldo, Cafu, Rivaldo, and Ronaldinho—the strongest Brazilian generation—the team still had stars like Kaká and Robinho.
With Kaká now transitioning into more of a playmaker role, organizing Brazil's midfield and controlling the rhythm, this version of Brazil was arguably stronger than the one from the original timeline.
"Kaká's distribution is really smart!"
Modrić couldn't help but praise.
During his time in Milan, Kaká was an attacking midfielder who loved to drive forward. But back in the national team for this match, he had taken on the role of the midfield brain.
He no longer forced forward surges, instead using his passing, vision, and sense of the game to link up the team's attack.
When the opportunity came, Kaká could instantly switch into attack mode, causing chaos in Japan's defense.
On the wing, Robinho was constantly lurking dangerously.
In the 12th minute, Brazil exploited Japan's defensive disarray thanks to Kaká's buildup play. Robinho found a gap down the flank, surged into the box, and coolly poked the ball into the net to open the scoring.
"Brazil's not easy to beat," Modrić sighed.
The others all nodded in agreement.
Brazil's strength lay in their fluidity and footballing heritage.
Their tactics were fundamentally different from European football.
At that time, Brazilian football hadn't yet been influenced by European styles and still maintained its unique identity—something that always troubled European teams.
But in the future, Brazil's foundation would be eroded, blindly chasing European tactical trends and ultimately losing their essence.
The 2014 World Cup would be Brazil's biggest test.
The match ended: Brazil 2–0 Japan. A comfortable win, sending them into the quarterfinals.
Suker watched as the camera showed Kaká smiling brightly.
In the original timeline, Kaká had received a red card (two yellows) during the group stage after being elbowed by Côte d'Ivoire's Keita. But in this timeline, that didn't happen.
Some things might not occur. But others... they inevitably will.
Match 2: Uruguay vs England.
By the 88th minute of the second half, Uruguay was leading England 2–1.
Then, in the 89th minute, facing a chipped shot from Frank Lampard, Uruguay's goalkeeper was unable to recover in time. And Luis Suárez, standing on the goal line, blatantly used his hand to knock the ball away.
"Holy sh*t!"
Suker was dumbfounded.
He suddenly remembered the infamous handball in the original timeline—Suárez's "criminal" handball against Ghana, which led to their elimination and made Suárez a villain in Ghanaian eyes.
But this time, Suárez did it against England.
"If England misses this penalty, are you still going to Liverpool, Suárez?"
But Lampard stayed calm! He converted the penalty and sent the game into extra time.
Uruguay, now down to ten men, began to tire.
In the second half of extra time, Steven Gerrard scored a thunderous long-range strike.
England 3–2 Uruguay.England advanced to the quarterfinals.
Uruguay lost, and Suárez's handball yielded no reward.
The others didn't have strong opinions on the matter, but Suker was wincing.
"If Suárez had pulled that off, he might never have made it to Liverpool. The whole team would've torn him apart."
The first day of knockout matches ended.
Brazil vs Japan wasn't particularly exciting.
But Uruguay vs England? That was exhilarating.
The back-and-forth drama—Uruguay leading, Suárez's handball, Lampard's penalty, Gerrard's extra-time screamer—left fans on edge.
And the match served as a warning to all teams: This is the knockout stage—every tiny mistake can change the outcome.
"Sleep! Time to sleep!"
Suker stretched and got up.
The others began leaving the meeting room one by one.
"So intense!"
"So much pressure on Lampard. If he missed that, England was done!"
"Suárez almost got himself torn apart by English fans!"
"He doesn't even play in England—what's he scared of?"
Dujmović looked at Pranjić and asked,
"Would you dare do that?"
"F***, what kinda question is that?" Pranjić grinned.
Truth be told, he didn't know. He'd probably act instinctively and then lose his job.
But at the World Cup, there's no time to think—everything is instinct.
"Tomorrow's our match. Let's all sleep well tonight—it's going to be a tough battle!" said Srna as he headed to his room.
But shortly after, Srna quietly crept out of his room.
He checked the silent hallway and walked to the end.
Knock knock.
"What?" Suker's voice came from inside.
"Open the door!" Srna whispered.
Creak— Suker opened the door. The room was brightly lit.
Srna slipped in and sighed,
"Damn, I'm so nervous I can't sleep…"
The room was full of people. Mandžukić, Rakitić, Dujmović, Vukojević…
"You guys?" Srna was stunned.
"Same as you," Mandžukić shrugged.
Suker climbed back onto his bed and pointed at them,
"Look at you—nervous over a round of 16 game. What'll you do in the final?"
He looked at Srna,
"Good thing we all know what you're like. If other teammates saw their captain this scared, how do you expect them to feel?"
"Captains are human too!" Srna sighed. "I get nervous."
He glanced at Modrić on the bed, breathing steadily.
"Luka really has nerves of steel…"
"Bullsh*t!" Suker threw a pillow at him. "Quit pretending to be asleep!"
Modrić awkwardly sat up.
"How'd you know I wasn't sleeping?"
"You grind your teeth and fart when you're asleep," Suker said grumpily.
"So, what do you guys want?" he asked.
Everyone exchanged glances.
Srna finally said,
"Let's talk. It's been a while since we really talked."
"About what?"
"Which World Cup left the deepest impression on you?"
Everyone exchanged glances again—and nearly in unison:
"1998!"
"I remember," Modrić smiled. "We were staying in a tiny 10-square-meter room in Zagreb. My dad bought a radio, and I learned through that radio that Croatia had made it to the semifinals!"
"I watched it on TV—not mine, of course, the neighbor's," said Mandžukić. "The atmosphere was amazing."
"I also heard it on the radio," said Srna.
Everyone shared similar stories—except Suker.
"What about you?" Srna asked.
Suker thoughtfully said,
"Most likely rummaging through trash cans."
"Trash cans?" Modrić was stunned. "Weren't you in an orphanage?"
"Yeah, but the orphanage was dirt poor. One piece of bread a day. Not enough. If you didn't go through the trash, you'd starve," Suker shrugged.
"Didn't you watch the World Cup?"
"Hell no! I just remember the bar next to the orphanage. During the World Cup, their trash cans were overflowing."
"Let's stop talking about this. Let's talk about when we all first met," said Srna.
"Now that's a good topic!" Mandžukić smiled and pointed at Suker. "Back then, this guy was cocky—so small, but acting like a big shot."
Suker squinted at him.
"But after a few games, turns out—he was the real deal!" Mandžukić admitted.
"I wasn't in the same group," Rakitić added, "but even then, Suker was a bit annoying."
"You were worse!" Dujmović joked. "Coming from Basel's academy, acting all high and mighty—until we schooled you with a few goals!"
Rakitić blushed slightly.
Everyone has their youthful pride.
"Can't believe it's been seven years," Vukojević laughed. "We've known each other for seven years. Time flies."
"Back then we were all playing for Dinamo Zagreb, dreaming of reaching the Champions League." Dujmović looked at Suker, Modrić, and Srna. "Now, three UCL titles between us."
"Four!" Suker raised two fingers. "I count for two."
The others rolled their eyes.
"We also dreamed of joining the national team. Now we've won the Euros and are fighting in the World Cup knockouts." Mandžukić smiled. "If we told our younger selves about this, they'd probably be shocked."
Everyone burst out laughing.
After laughing and chatting, the mood lightened.
"Do you think we can win the World Cup?" Mandžukić suddenly asked.
The room fell silent.
"Who knows?" Srna shrugged. Then he pointed at Suker. "But he will."
"Why's that?" Suker asked.
"Just a feeling," Srna smiled. "Feels like you can do it."
"Enough," Suker waved them off. "We've talked for an hour. Time to sleep. Or are you not playing tomorrow?"
The others chuckled and left.
Once the room was quiet again, Suker and Modrić turned off the lights and went to bed.
After a while, Modrić flipped over and said:
"Suker, I feel the same way as Srna."
Snoring...
Modrić grinned.
"This guy really fell asleep that fast?"
He pulled back the curtain.
Outside, under the pitch-black sky, the stadium lights flickered faintly.
Tomorrow, they'd be playing there.
Modrić shared Srna's belief.
Suker would win the World Cup—but he hoped they could win it together.
"No one gets left behind."
"Wake up! Wake up!"
At 8 a.m., Suker went knocking door to door to wake everyone.
He reached Srna's room last.
"What time is it?" Srna asked groggily.
"Eight! It's match day, and you're still sleeping like a rock?"
"We went to bed late…" Srna yawned.
Soon, the Croatian players were up, getting washed and heading to breakfast.
The tension hadn't fully set in yet—or maybe they hadn't processed it.
But as they walked out of the hotel toward the stadium for warm-ups, the cheering fans, the media presence, and the sights of the World Cup setup made one thing clear:
The knockout round had arrived.
On the Portuguese side, the situation was similar.
Cristiano Ronaldo looked grim.
From the moment they drew Croatia, his face had been tight.
Among all the group winners, Croatia was by far the toughest opponent.
Ronaldo even suspected FIFA of manipulating the draw—but there was no time to dwell on that.
On paper, Portugal couldn't match Croatia.
Suker and Modrić alone were huge threats—one his rival, the other his club teammate.
Ronaldo knew how dangerous those two were—and together, they were unstoppable in the group stage.
But matches weren't decided by lineups alone.
Form, momentum, and many factors came into play.
Portugal had improved dramatically since their group-stage thrashing of North Korea.
So Ronaldo believed they had a chance.
"Group stage: Suker faced Messi. Round of 16: Suker vs Ronaldo," Simao said bitterly.
He resented how the match had turned into a personal duel. With Suker and Ronaldo taking center stage, everyone else felt like background characters.
"Don't say that. If we want to beat Croatia, Ronaldo's performance is crucial."
Just as Suker was key for Croatia, Ronaldo was the spearhead for Portugal.
"Alright, boys! Time to head to the stadium!" Coach Fernando Santos called out. He gave Ronaldo a shoulder pat—his trust in him was crystal clear.
Ronaldo was Portugal's sharpest weapon.Whether they could beat Croatia depended largely on him.
Soon, the team set out for the match.
Cape Town, South Africa. Green Point Stadium.
Cape Town, also known as the "City at the Cape," sits at the southernmost tip of Africa near the Cape of Good Hope.
Surrounded by rugged mountains, only the coastal stretch is flat enough for a city.
The stadium lies by the sea, perched on a cliffside. The salty ocean wind whipped across the area, clouds roiled above, and fierce gusts howled.
This kind of weather was the norm here. Even inside the stadium, the wind could disrupt the ball's flight.
During warm-ups, Suker watched as the ball swerved unpredictably in the air.
He turned to Srna:
"If we get the left half of the pitch, we attack with the wind. If we're against the wind, we defend."
"Same thought," Srna nodded.
Attacking into the wind meant the ball wouldn't travel far and would be difficult to control.
With the wind at their back, long passes became more viable—if handled carefully.
Against the wind, Croatia would rely more on ground-based short passes to avoid turnovers.
So, picking sides was crucial.Both Croatia and Portugal knew it.
They'd do whatever they could to claim the left half, where the wind would be at their backs first.
Unless a team had a trump-card substitute they planned to unleash in the second half, most wouldn't want to start the game against the wind.
But that's a rare tactic.