Durban, the night breeze carried a hint of moisture.
Under the floodlights of the training field, the entire pitch was brightly lit.
In the empty stadium, a lone figure was juggling a ball.
Suker juggled the ball seriously, one touch at a time.
His body movements were fluid and relaxed — the kind of ease that only comes from a perfect harmony between the body and the ball.
It was the [Ronaldinho's Ball Sense] ability that gave Suker this state of flow.
Bang!Suker powerfully volleyed the ball into the air, tilted his head upward, took a slight sidestep, judged the trajectory, and gently extended his right foot.
The moment the ball touched his foot, there was a slight cushioning motion — then the ball seemed to stick to his foot.
Using his foot and shin, Suker clamped the ball and spun on one leg like Ronaldinho, keeping the ball completely still.
"This ball sense is insane!"
Suker couldn't help but exclaim.
Previously, he had Marcelo's ball sense, which was already a massive boost.
But now, feeling Ronaldinho's touch, Suker finally understood what real ball sense was.
It was a completely different concept!
Yes — a concept!
If Marcelo's style was about controlling the ball, then Ronaldinho's was about becoming one with it.
The ball felt like an extension of his body — moving as he willed, each touch giving Suker immense joy.
It was the sensation of absolute control.
It felt as if he could do anything with the ball at his feet — without the slightest error.
Suker then mimicked Ronaldinho's Elastico move.
He had tried it before, but it lacked precision and rhythm — it always felt awkward and stiff.
It never had Ronaldinho's smoothness and flair.
Now, with a light flick, the ball stayed glued to his foot. With a hip twist and quick ankle motion, he pulled the ball back — subtle and deceptive, aided by his body and eyes, creating strong misdirection.
Suker continued juggling — with his toes, shins, heels, shoulders, forehead, even his butt.
He could do it all effortlessly.
And with it came joy.
Ronaldinho played football with happiness.
Back then, Suker had wondered — how could Ronaldinho enjoy it so much?
Now he understood.
With such godlike ball sense and control, who wouldn't love playing?
What started as a light session had turned into a deep training groove.
What he didn't know was that, not far away, in a shadowy corner, Modrić, Srna, and Vukojević were watching him with concern.
"He must be taking it the hardest," Modrić finally said, breaking the silence.
The others sighed.
Croatia's World Cup run was over.
Though the third-place match remained, it had lost all meaning.
"How's Tomi doing?" Srna asked.
Vukojević: "Went straight to bed after dinner."
Srna sighed: "He must be feeling terrible. He hasn't spoken a word since getting off the team bus."
"Understandable. If he had scored, we might've had a chance."
"But it wasn't his fault."
"Let's stop thinking about it. The World Cup's over. We'll try again in four years."
Srna shook his head, then glanced one last time at Suker practicing under the lights before turning away.
Later that night, the Croatian team hotel was quiet.
After the loss, no one was in the mood to liven up.
"I'm back."
Suker wiped the rain off his face.
"Just went out to kick the ball a bit — and it started raining!"
Modrić looked over.
"You're unbelievable. Just played a full match and you're out training ball control again?"
Suker shrugged: "Can't sit still. I'll go shower."
He cleaned up and returned refreshed.
"Ah, that feels good."
Suker collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh.
Modrić continued staring out the window.
Not at the neon city lights of Durban — but into the darkness, toward the faraway horizon.
"We were this close to Johannesburg," he murmured.
Suker nodded: "Yeah. Just a little short."
Modrić looked like he wanted to say something but didn't.
Instead, Suker grinned.
"Spit it out already."
Modrić: "Aren't you supposed to comfort me?"
Suker: "Comfort's for losers. We didn't lose that badly. And besides — we'll crush Spain in four years."
Modrić chuckled: "Easier said than done."
Suker waved it off: "Stop overthinking. Let's just finish our last match strong. This is just our first World Cup! We're not Brazil or Germany — we don't have that kind of legacy. We're pioneers. So let's make the most of our next game."
"And what about Spain?"
"Seriously?" Suker rolled his eyes. "They were fourth at the World Cup 60 years ago. Played in 13 tournaments. Our national history isn't even that long!"
Modrić: "So you're just making excuses?"
"If that helps you feel better."
Suker shrugged again.
Modrić shook his head.
This Croatian team had no idea how to comfort people — but they had strong minds. They could carry themselves through.
Just as the two were about to sleep, a knock came at the door.
Suker opened it — Srna was standing there, tired and resigned, motioning toward the hallway.
Suker and Modrić exchanged looks and followed.
At the end of the hallway, near the stairwell, the team had gathered.
From inside the emergency stairwell, a muffled sobbing could be heard.
"It's Tomi," Mandzukic whispered.
Suker sighed and looked over.
Srna asked: "What should we do?"
Everyone turned to Suker.
Suker rolled his eyes: "Me? Comfort him? Nah. Let him cry it out. He's not bothering anyone."
Everyone nodded — made sense.
Just as they were about to disperse, the crying intensified.
"WAAAAAHHHHHHH~~~~~~"
Dujmović wailed at the top of his lungs.
It echoed painfully through the corridor.
The team winced and covered their ears — all eyes went back to Suker.
He stormed over, kicked open the emergency door, and yelled:
"Shut the hell up! Your damn duck-screech is killing us!"
"Waaah… huh?"
"Huh your sister! Get out here. Let's talk like men."
Tears still on his face, Dujmović asked:
"Are… you comforting me?"
"Don't make me hit you!"
Suker raised his hand — Dujmović flinched and obediently followed him back.
Everyone gave Suker a thumbs up.
That's our guy.
In the room, everyone found a spot to sit.
Dujmović stood in the corner, head low, staring at his twitching toes like a scolded child.
Suker and Srna sat on the bed across from him, arms folded.
Suker looked at him, both annoyed and sympathetic.
This guy just didn't know how to process his guilt.
"Go on. If this helps, let it out."
Suker prompted.
Dujmović immediately teared up again.
"I… If I had scored…"
"No crying! You're so damn annoying!"
Dujmović shut up and bowed deeply.
"I'm sorry. It's my fault. If that shot had gone in, we would've had a chance."
Everyone exchanged glances.
Srna sighed.
"It's not your fault. We've said this — we win and lose together."
"This was a team loss. We all have responsibility."
One by one, they raised their hands in admission.
Srna: "If I hadn't been injured."
Kovač: "If I hadn't gotten that red card."
Modrić: "If I'd played better."
Rakitić: "If I'd dribbled more smoothly."
Then they all turned to Suker.
Suker slowly raised his hand.
"If I had scored ten goals!"
Everyone: "…"
Srna coughed.
"Exactly. Victory makes us proud — but failure gives us lessons. This loss means nothing. We still have the future. In 2014, we'll be stronger."
Mandzukic nodded.
"Right. Like Srna said — the next four years will be our rise."
"Tomi, no one blames you. Don't carry it alone."
"You did great! You gave Suker that last-chance shot against Germany — if not for that, we wouldn't have even made it this far!"
Tears turned to warmth in Dujmović's chest.
"Thanks," he said sincerely. Then quickly added:"But this is over now, okay? From now on, no nicknames like 'Can't-Shoot Tomi' or 'Choke Artist' or 'Stinky-foot Tomi.' Deal?"
Everyone rolled their eyes.
"Lastly…"
He raised a finger.
"Man, you've got a lot of demands."
Mandzukic joked.
"Spit it out already."
Dujmović smiled awkwardly:"Even though you didn't score… I still want to be your dad."
The room fell dead silent.
Mandzukic stared wide-eyed.
Everyone blinked.
Suker stood up, waving his hand.
"Mario, do what you have to. I'm going to sleep."
"Me too."
"Good night."
"Later!"
As they filed out, behind them came Dujmović's scream — followed by Mandzukic's roar.
"Be my dad? I'll beat the crap out of you!"
July 11, the Croatian team returned to Durban Stadium.
They would face England in the third-place match — the final game of their World Cup.
England was an old rival — from Euro and World Cup qualifiers, they had clashed many times.
Lately, England had lost more than they'd won.
So despite the low stakes, this would still be a tough fight.
Starting Lineups:
Croatia (4-2-3-1):GK: PletikosaDEF: Ćorluka, Šimunić, Pranjić, KneževićMID: Perišić, Vukojević, Rakitić, Modrić, SukerFWD: Mandzukic
England (4-4-2):GK: David JamesDEF: Upson, Johnson, Terry, Ashley ColeMID: Milner, Lampard, Gerrard, BarryFWD: Rooney, Defoe
"Welcome to the 2010 World Cup's third-place playoff! Croatia vs. England!"
"Both teams have put forth their best lineups. Despite exhaustion, they're ready to go!"
"All eyes are still on Suker!"
"He's already scored nine goals this World Cup — leading the Golden Boot race. Can he make it ten?"
On camera, Suker wore the black Croatian away kit, bouncing as he warmed up.
Though the title was out of reach, Suker now had other goals — the Ballon d'Or and FIFA World Player of the Year.
He had already won La Liga and Copa del Rey top scorer awards, and reached the UCL semis.
With a World Cup bronze and Golden Boot added, his case would be near unbeatable.
Even in the real timeline, Spain's stars like Xavi and Iniesta only had the World Cup — no league titles.
Sneijder had a treble, but no Golden Boot.
So if Suker won today, his odds for individual honors would skyrocket.
"Still, why haven't they merged the Ballon d'Or and World Player yet?" Suker mused."If they did, no one else would even stand a chance!"
WHISTLE!Kickoff.
16th minute:
"Suker keeps dribbling, touching the ball, organizing Croatia's attack, and launching from the wings."
Kraushević watched Suker's elegant form — light, agile, the ball dancing at his feet.
Then — a long ball flew toward him.
He turned, spotted Upson approaching, and leaned back slightly.
With a soft bump from his shoulder, he passed the ball mid-air to Rakitić charging into space.
"Perfect touch!"
Kraushević exclaimed.
It wasn't just technical — Suker's movement and rhythm made everything look effortless.
His style — free and flamboyant — reminded Kraushević of Ronaldinho.
Suddenly, Suker sprinted diagonally across the top of the box.
Rakitić passed to the right.
Suker curved his run, feinted a shot, then nutmegged John Terry with a subtle flick.
"Ohhhh!!! Brilliant move!"
Kraushević gasped.
The crowd roared.
Suker then caught up to the ball and curled it around the keeper into the far corner.
"GOAL!!! Suker scores his tenth of the tournament!"
"Double digits in a single World Cup — Croatia's superstar striker delivers again!"
Suker raised his arms to the sky, soaking in the cheers.
This was Croatia's last match — the final celebration of summer.
Croatia and England battled for 90 minutes.
In this preview to the final, Croatia won 3–1, clinching third place.
Suker had one goal and one assist, yet another stellar showing.
He had all but locked in the 2010 World Cup Golden Boot.