"You're not coming back with me?"
In a Croatian hotel room, Suker finished packing and looked at Srna.
Srna had already finalized his transfer to Real Madrid. Now, he was officially a Real Madrid player.
That's why Suker invited him to travel to Spain together.
"I'll head over later," Srna shook his head. "You're not going back to our country?"
Suker waved dismissively. "I don't want to play along with those political shows. Leave that troublesome stuff to you guys. Besides, I've got a mountain of work piling up over here. You don't know—I've signed on with a new endorsement deal."
"Stop, stop, stop!" Srna raised his hand. "I'm not interested in your endorsements!"
Suker winked. "Not even curious about the endorsement fee?"
"Even less interested!"
Srna rolled his eyes.
Trying to compete with Suker in making money was pure masochism.
In Srna's view, Suker was constantly working—either playing football or doing endorsement activities. The guy never took a break. He couldn't figure out where Suker got all that energy.
"Alright then," Suker shrugged. "So, are you coming over with your family later or just by yourself?"
"I'll go alone first. Once I'm settled, I'll bring them over."
Suker nodded. "Got it. See you in a few days then!"
With that, Suker waved and turned to leave, looking cool as ever.
He had stayed in South Africa for nearly a month. Besides playing matches, many interesting and unfortunate things had happened during that time.
For example, theft in South Africa was rampant.
Many players had their personal belongings stolen during the World Cup.
Croatia wasn't spared either, but Suker had brought bodyguards. Aside from his close protection detail, the rest of his team stayed back at the hotel to keep watch.
So instead of getting robbed, they actually caught a couple of petty thieves.
Suker returned to Spain—but not alone. He was invited by Florentino to fly back on his private jet, saving Suker the hassle of buying a ticket and waiting for a flight.
He arrived at the airport as scheduled.
In the VIP lounge, Suker met Florentino and Mourinho.
Seeing Mourinho surprised him—he hadn't expected the man to be in South Africa too.
"Hello, Suker!"
Mourinho approached first, reaching out to shake hands.
"Hello, sir!"
Suker smiled and shook hands in return.
After a brief exchange, Florentino led them to board the plane.
The flight from South Africa to Spain took nine hours.
Inside the private jet, Florentino chatted briefly before heading to a corner to rest, intentionally leaving time for Mourinho and Suker to talk.
Sure enough, Mourinho took the opportunity to sit across from Suker.
"I watched your team's performance at the World Cup in South Africa. You guys did great," Mourinho complimented.
Suker paused for a moment, then smiled. "Thank you for the recognition."
"No need to be so formal. Srna probably told you—I'm very easy to get along with."
Suker almost laughed. Coming from Mourinho in such a serious tone, it didn't sound "easy" at all.
"I'll get to the point. Next season, I want to build the team around you."
Hearing Mourinho cut to the chase, Suker immediately sat up straighter.
"Thank you very much, but may I ask—what style will we be playing next season?"
"Defensive counterattack!" Mourinho replied.
Just as expected!
Suker nodded internally.
Mourinho added, "But not pure counterattack. If we can win, I'm open to any approach. So I'll also add high pressing and intense physical training."
That confirmed it for Suker—Mourinho was clearly aiming at Barcelona.
After Spain's World Cup win, tiki-taka had become football's mainstream doctrine.
But Mourinho wasn't one to go with the flow. While sticking to his style, he also wanted to challenge the idea that possession football was supreme.
Many people misunderstood Mourinho, thinking he was just a master of defense.
In truth, his philosophy leaned more toward aggressive football—even utilitarian football: win at all costs, regardless of aesthetics or process.
Defense was just the most effective route to victory, so he chose it.
After his stint in Italy, Mourinho had absorbed the fundamentals of zonal defending.
Now, after watching Croatia's games, he was intrigued by high pressing.
High pressing, after all, was very effective in disrupting tiki-taka.
Throughout the flight, Mourinho kept sending friendly signals to Suker, even repeatedly expressing his full support for him.
The subtext was clear: I support you, so you should support me.
He wanted to form a partnership of mutual benefit.
Mourinho was newly appointed and extremely controlling. He wouldn't allow voices in the dressing room other than his own.
But the Spanish core at Real Madrid was very powerful.
So Mourinho planned to ally with "outsiders" like Suker to first secure his own position.
Of course, he wouldn't start a war with the Spanish core just yet—it wasn't the right time.
But in the future, Mourinho intended to make his voice the only one in the dressing room.
Listening to all this, Suker felt a bit helpless.
With Ancelotti not coming, Mourinho was indeed the best available choice.
But he was also a very domineering one—already trying to tie Suker to his ship.
"You're the head coach, so naturally I'll support you and follow your tactical instructions," Suker replied with a smile.
He was playing it safe.
I'll follow because you're the coach—not because of any personal allegiance.
A perfectly reasonable response.
Mourinho glanced at him, unsure whether Suker truly didn't understand—or was pretending not to.
But nothing could be rushed.
"I'm planning to clean out a few players, but I'd like your input," Mourinho said.
"Who?" Suker asked.
"Van der Vaart."
Mourinho named a few players—all fringe members of the squad—showing he didn't plan on overhauling the locker room just yet.
Compared to Pellegrini's aggressive style, Mourinho clearly knew how to maintain balance.
And Suker didn't believe Mourinho hadn't studied Real Madrid's locker room dynamics.
His question was more symbolic: I respect your opinion, so you should respect mine.
Suker nodded. "You're the head coach. Do as you see fit."
Mourinho frowned slightly.
Same answer again.
But he had achieved his goal.
"We still have a few hours until we're back in Spain. I'll issue the preseason training notice on July 20," Mourinho added.
"So early?" Suker was surprised.
Mourinho smiled. "We've got a backlog of work. Two weeks of pure physical training first—then we move to tactical work and preseason adjustments."
"Two full weeks of pure physical training?" Suker asked, shocked.
Usually, clubs used the four-week preseason to mix in high-intensity training, ball work, friendlies, rest periods, etc.
But Mourinho seemed to be planning a brutal two-week boot camp.
Suker was a little worried. "We just finished the World Cup. Can the squad handle it?"
He wasn't worried about himself—he was worried the whole team might break down!
Mourinho grinned. "Don't worry. The coaching staff I've assembled is very professional. And your fitness coach has already submitted a detailed training plan. He's dying to put you all to work."
Suker blinked. "Can I know who our fitness coach is?"
"Of course!" Mourinho shrugged and smiled. "His name is Antonio Pintus!"
Suker smacked his forehead.
He was already mourning for his teammates.
They were in for hell.
Suker returned to his small house in Spain.
The whole country was celebrating wildly.
After winning their first-ever World Cup, Spain was at the peak of its footballing history.
Parades and celebratory events were everywhere.
The Spanish national team had officially conquered the world, defeating the Netherlands in the final with their fluid tiki-taka football.
Sneijder failed to shine, smothered by Spain's dominant midfield. Without him, the Dutch attack couldn't find its rhythm—and they lost.
This summer belonged to Spain's carnival.
But for Croatia, the fight wasn't over.
First, Croatian legend Davor Suker leveraged his connections and, along with several players, accused FIFA of rigging the group draw and exploiting Croatia.
Second, Croatian and Western European media launched a wave of criticism that swept across FIFA.
FIFA quickly issued a statement, trying to calm things down.
They explained the reasons for changing the draw procedure—but fans and the media weren't buying it.
Eventually, FIFA offered up a scapegoat: some unknown Swiss official from a FIFA subcommittee.
His confession was laughably absurd.
At the same time, FIFA invited Davor Suker into the tournament supervisory committee, giving Croatia some symbolic influence within the organization.
That should've been the end of it.
FIFA had their scapegoat, and Croatia got meaningless compensation.
But someone didn't want it to end.
During the 2010 World Cup wrap-up conference, FIFA president Sepp Blatter was giving an important speech when famous Croatian commentator Kraushevich burst onto the scene.
He held up a wad of cash and, in front of the global media, accused FIFA of corruption and mocked:
"All for Korea's 2018 World Cup!"
It was a double entendre.
He was mocking Blatter for taking bribes in the 2002 World Cup and turning a blind eye to Korea's dirty tricks as hosts.
And also mocking the 2010 World Cup—for how FIFA exploited Croatia to gain money, boost Blatter's re-election, and inflate his political legacy.
Money fluttered through the air.
Blatter's embarrassed, angry, panicked face was caught on camera—utterly ridiculous.
This outburst reignited the controversy.
Global media picked it up immediately.
Meanwhile, FIFA HQ in Switzerland formed an emergency investigation group.
The very next day, the group showed up with evidence and filed charges against Blatter.
The process was lightning fast. It didn't smell right.
Someone clearly wanted him gone.
Within three days, FIFA was in turmoil.
Blatter and his faction were all indicted—facing a lengthy legal battle.
FIFA then removed Blatter from the presidency, handing control to the investigation group.
They didn't even try to clear his name—clearly, forces within FIFA were eager to take him down.
Blatter and his faction faced over 50 charges: manipulating World Cup events, illegal profits, match-fixing, and more.
Just the legal fees alone could ruin them.
As for running again for president? With this stain, Blatter had no chance.
The 2010 World Cup had triggered an earthquake within FIFA.
Even the president faced jail time.
When Suker heard the news, he immediately called Davor Suker.
"You guys are bold! What happened to Kraushevich?"
That kind of protest was bound to incur punishment.
"What else? He got fined, but that's it. Back to business as usual," Davor laughed.
Suker was impressed. "That was brilliant!"
Then he asked, "Whose idea was it?"
"It wasn't really anyone's idea. After the first negotiation, we had given up hope. Croatia's influence was just too small. We figured we'd wait until one of us climbed the FIFA ladder.
"But then some anti-Blatter people within FIFA contacted us. They had tons of evidence but needed a global scandal. So we put on a show together.
"And the result—you saw it. Blatter's whole faction is going down. Now they're tracking the money flow."
Headlines:
FIFA's Biggest Scandal? Blatter Accused of Match Fixing and Draw Manipulation!
Croatia Gets Revenge? Blatter Pays the Price for His Greed!
Blatter Exploited Croatia to Cash In Before Reelection!
Court Finds Blatter Guilty of Corruption—Linked to Argentina FA Chief Grondona!
Top-to-Bottom Purge: Blatter's Faction Set to Collapse!
The impact was huge—it involved the World Cup.
With solid evidence, Blatter was doomed.
After removing him, FIFA had to do damage control.
To appease Croatia, the biggest victim, they not only kept Davor Suker on the supervisory committee but also named him an honorary committee member.
And with this reputation boost, Davor Suker was now set to run for president of the Croatian Football Federation.
Only then did things finally begin to settle down.
As for Suker, he stayed away from media coverage—as a player, it was better not to get involved.
In the meantime, he was busy with endorsement events.
He had to wrap everything up before the 20th—time was tight, so he worked even harder.
After finishing everything on the afternoon of the 18th, he spent a night at home.
The next morning, Suker went to the airport.
At the arrivals gate, he wore sunglasses and a cap, scanning the crowd.
Soon, a figure in similar gear—cap, sunglasses, and rolling luggage—walked out.
Suker didn't even need to look twice.
"Over here!" he waved enthusiastically.
Kaká looked up, spotted him, and his eyes lit up. He ran over immediately.
"Welcome to Spain!"
"Long time no see!"
They hugged briefly.
"I'm starving—let's go!" Kaká said eagerly.
Suker rolled his eyes. "Wait half an hour."
"Wait for who?"
"Srna."
Suker had decided to pick them both up at once—to save himself a second trip.
The club had originally arranged transport, but Suker volunteered, and no one objected.
Half an hour later, Srna also walked out—dressed almost exactly the same as the other two.
"Let's go!" Suker said, waving grandly.
He led them to the underground parking lot, tossed the suitcases in the trunk, and drove off.
The black Rolls-Royce Phantom sped down the asphalt road.
Inside the car, it was silent—only the sound of wind resistance and tire noise.
In the backseat, Kaká and Srna sat together, each looking out the window, unsure what to say.
Before joining Real Madrid, one had played for AC Milan, the other for Inter.
This was their first time in such a tight space together—awkward, to say the least.
Suker said nothing either.
While driving, he glanced at the rearview mirror—his expression full of amusement, like someone watching drama unfold.