"The full match is over! Real Madrid defeats Santos 5:0!"

"Real Madrid wins the 2011 Club World Cup and also achieves the incredible feat of a sextuple!"

"We have every reason to believe this Real Madrid team will become even stronger."

"Let us once again congratulate Real Madrid on winning their sixth championship trophy!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!!!!!

Fireworks lit up the Tokyo sky as, amidst countless cheers, the Real Madrid players proudly lifted their sixth championship trophy.

The 2011 Club World Cup had come to an end.

The European leagues also entered their winter break.

After the tournament, Real Madrid did not linger in Tokyo but immediately flew back to Spain.

Another more than ten-hour flight, but with the championship trophy accompanying them, the players couldn't help but smile happily even in their sleep.

Due to the time difference, they arrived in Madrid at noon.

The airport was still crowded with fans, there to welcome their sixth championship trophy.

Even the club president, Florentino Pérez, personally came to greet the team and reward the players who had fought for glory.

Over the past few seasons, with the team's outstanding performances, Florentino had made more public appearances. He warmly hugged and encouraged the Real Madrid players, a bright smile on his face.

They took a bus through the city, drawing crowds all the way back to the training base, where Real Madrid fans cheered excitedly to welcome their sixth championship trophy.

After arriving at the training base, Mourinho said a few brief words and then announced the dispersal.

The winter break was about to begin.

After returning to his villa from the club, Suker began packing his luggage.

He would return to Croatia with Srna, Kovačić, and Zorancić.

"When are you going to Italy?" Suker asked, turning to Zorancić.

Kovačić would be loaned to Juventus during the winter transfer window, as previously agreed.

Zorancić replied, "After Christmas!"

Kovačić looked at Suker and said sincerely, "Thank you for taking care of me during this time!"

Kovačić's gratitude was heartfelt.

First, he was somewhat of a "publicity player" at Real Madrid. His skills weren't yet sufficient, and his survival in the locker room relied heavily on his relationship with Suker.

Second, Kovačić had played in a few less important matches, such as the Copa del Rey. Although his playing time was limited, it helped him maintain some match fitness rather than sitting on the bench entirely.

Kovačić knew very well that to Mourinho, he was practically invisible. The opportunities he got were entirely thanks to Suker.

"If you want to thank me, then play well," Suker said, waving his hand dismissively.

Kovačić nodded seriously. "I will work hard to learn and grow at Juventus!"

For Kovačić, his biggest goal at this stage was to end his loan spell and return to Real Madrid as a capable player. Although he wasn't yet ready, he believed he would eventually succeed.

"I'm ready! When are we leaving?" Srna asked.

Suker picked up his luggage. "Let's go now!"

They took a car to the airport and boarded a private plane to Zagreb.

On the plane, everyone sat together.

"I plan to bring Mia and the kids over. They stayed in Zagreb because of the children's schooling, but we've been apart for too long—more than half the year. So, I want them to move to Madrid," Srna said.

Hearing this, Suker immediately gave a thumbs-up. "That's a great decision!"

Zorancić, sitting nearby, skeptically asked, "Aren't you just tired of Srna always mooching meals off you?"

Srna laughed. "Why don't you think I'll bring my wife and kids to mooch off you instead?"

"Have some shame!" Suker retorted jokingly.

Srna shrugged with a smile. "Once Mia is here, I won't need to. Honestly, your cooking is nowhere near as good as hers!"

Sučić snorted. "Now that you don't need to mooch off me, you're getting bold, huh?"

The two burst into laughter.

Srna asked, "Are you going back because of Davor's situation?"

Suker nodded. "You all did the notarization, and the court has summoned me as a witness."

Sučić scratched his head. "It's annoying, but I'll just tell the truth—I don't know anything! And I have no interest in knowing."

Zorancić asked, "Did Davor really not tell you anything about this?"

Suker glared at him. "It's all your dad's fault!"

Suker believed the whole situation was orchestrated by Davor Šuker's agent, Mamić, who was also Zorancić's father.

To be honest, Suker didn't think Davor Šuker had the brains for such a scheme. Davor was a great player, but based on past interactions, if the plaintiff's claims were true, Suker doubted Davor could have pulled it off—it was too complicated for him.

This was the same guy who, behind Bešić's back, almost ruined Suker's transfer and nearly caused a rift between them. Suker couldn't believe someone like that could mastermind a plan to consolidate resources across Croatian football.

In Suker's eyes, Davor Šuker was more of a figurehead, not the brains behind the operation. Even if he were involved, Suker suspected Mamić was the one pulling the strings.

Zorancić looked embarrassed.

He had no idea what his father was up to. After he branched out on his own and established his independent agency, he had long since distanced himself from Mamić's shadow.

Besides, compared to Mamić, Zorancić was now a top-tier agent in Europe—far more successful than his father.

"Are you really in the dark?" Srna pressed, curious himself.

Suker glanced at Srna and shook his head. "Davor is avoiding me. He won't answer my calls."

Zorancić chimed in, "I use that trick all the time. I heard from my dad that once, when Wenger tried to call him but couldn't get through, he had to call my dad instead."

He added with a grin, "But... he's probably too ashamed to face you. You're special to him, after all."

Suker sighed in frustration. "That troublesome old man!"

Croatian Football Federation President's Office.

Davor Šuker refused outright: "I'm not going!"

"This is a public event aimed at repairing your image after the recent incident. Besides, Suker has already agreed."

Davor Šuker waved his hand dismissively. "You don't understand."

He was frustrated. How had things escalated to this point?

Bribery? He hadn't taken a single dime!

Hadn't they noticed he was still driving the same old car?

As for Mamić, he wasn't sure.

But the critics were primarily targeting Dinamo Zagreb. Unable to find anything, they were now going after Mamić and himself.

And Mamić wasn't exactly clean.

With Dinamo Zagreb's youth academy achieving great success and the "European Black Shop" reputation growing, many were eyeing a piece of the pie.

These people would stop at nothing to get a share of the resources, even collaborating with other Croatian football clubs to cause trouble. As the president of the Croatian Football Federation, Davor Šuker was overwhelmed.

Moreover, his image had taken a hit. To repair it, this interview with Suker had been arranged.

But truth be told, Davor Šuker felt too embarrassed to face Suker.

He had always wanted to be seen as a lofty, mentor-like figure in Suker's eyes—someone Suker admired and looked up to.

But after repeated incidents, that image had crumbled. Now, with this scandal forcing him to seek Suker's help, he felt even worse.

Suker had agreed without hesitation, but Davor Šuker couldn't shake his discomfort.

The next day, an old red sports car was parked outside Suker's estate.

The car that had once made him envious no longer held the same appeal.

Especially since the driver was an overweight Davor Šuker.

Already bulky, he had bundled up in a down jacket for the winter cold, making him look even larger.

The sports car's interior was cramped, and with Davor Šuker's size, it looked like a pig squeezed into the driver's seat, his belly nearly touching the steering wheel.

"Shouldn't you lose some weight? Or maybe consider changing cars?" Suker glanced at Davor Šuker. "After all, you've taken plenty of bribes."

Davor Šuker bristled instinctively. "I didn't accept any bribes!"

He pointed to the camera in front of the car. "We're being filmed!"

Suker smiled and shook his head. Davor Šuker still didn't get it—the more you avoid certain topics, the more people suspect. It was better to address them openly or explain directly.

Davor Šuker cared too much about his image, which was why he hadn't offered a proper explanation yet. He kept insisting that "the truth would prevail," but if you didn't speak up, how would people know?

So, Suker hammered away at Davor Šuker's vulnerabilities. Within ten minutes, Davor cracked.

"Let's not talk about this anymore," Davor Šuker said weakly.

Suker shrugged. He'd made his point.

"Where are we going?" Suker asked.

Davor Šuker replied, "Dinamo Zagreb! The place where we first met."

Sučić smiled. "That place..."

Clunk!

The car jolted violently and then stalled.

They immediately got out to check. Davor Šuker frowned. "The steering linkage is broken. It's not drivable."

Suker looked up. They were right at the entrance to Dinamo Zagreb, not far from the road sign.

He remembered that the first time they met, Davor Šuker's car had also broken down.

"This pothole still hasn't been filled?" Suker and Davor Šuker squatted by the roadside again. Suker sighed, holding the camera.

"It was filled, but they dug a new one," Davor Šuker explained.

Suker mentally cursed the Zagreb road maintenance crew. Who digs potholes in winter? How were they supposed to fix them now?

They waited by the roadside for a tow truck, chatting as they waited.

At one point, Davor Šuker couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" Suker asked.

"I was thinking about the past," Davor Šuker said with a smile. "This is how we first met! I remember Mario and Vukojević were there too."

His eyes held a trace of nostalgia.

"You were all just rookies who had just joined the Croatian league, and I had just arrived at Dinamo Zagreb from the Bundesliga. So many years have passed since then!" Davor Šuker looked at Suker. "You've already won three Ballon d'Ors, and I don't even have one!"

Suker said, "Doesn't that prove your eye for talent? Aren't you proud?"

Davor Šuker shook his head with a smile. "No! Because I knew you would succeed."

Snow began to fall from the overcast sky.

"It's snowing!" Suker reached out, feeling the snowflakes land on his hand, cold to the touch.

Davor Šuker nodded.

Fortunately, the tow truck arrived quickly and hauled away Davor Šuker's broken-down sports car.

The two then made their way into Dinamo Zagreb, arriving at a small indoor stadium.

"1v1 offensive and defensive battle. First to five goals. The loser buys dinner. And don't say I'm bullying you—I won't use my hands whether I'm defending or attacking. You can do whatever you want."

As Suker explained the rules, Davor Šuker rotated his ankles and wrists. He tucked his trousers into his socks, wearing soccer cleats, and said eagerly,

"Ha! You're going easy on me? Don't forget, I'm the one who taught you how to play! Come on, kid! Let me show you!"

Slap!

Suker nutmegged him in an instant. Davor Šuker didn't even react.

He turned around, but his overweight body and declining condition made his startup painfully slow.

Suker waited a moment, and just as Davor Šuker was about to reach him, he tapped the ball in with his toe.

"That's for not answering my calls!"

What followed was a one-sided beatdown.

Davor Šuker had no chance. Suker didn't hold back, leaving Davor Šuker dazed and unable to even touch the ball. The match ended quickly.

Huff! Huff! Huff!

Davor lay on the ground, his chest heaving. His stamina was terrible, but he was as stubborn as ever.

"Back in the day, I would've destroyed you!"

"How many goals did you score in a season?"

"...Goals aren't everything! It's about honors!"

"Oh? I've won six titles."

"I'm talking about the team!—"

"We won the sextuple!"

"..."

Davor Šuker glared at Suker. This kid never gave him an inch!

But as they bickered, Davor couldn't help but laugh.

"Getting some exercise now and then is really nice!" Davor said with a smile.

At that moment, Croatian commentator Klaus Havel appeared unexpectedly.

He greeted them both, then said with a smile, "Next up is a fun little game. I'll ask some questions, and you just need to make a choice. The game is called 'Me or You'!"

"First question: Who has better physical fitness?"

Davor pointed to Suker.

Suker pointed to himself.

They exchanged a smile.

"Second question: Who is stronger mentally?"

Both Suker and Davor pointed to themselves.

Davor explained, "As professional players, we'd always choose ourselves. No one thinks they're mentally weaker than the other."

Suker nodded. "Exactly. It's not something you can measure, but I still think I'm stronger!"

Klaus Havel asked, "Third question: Who has better leadership?"

Suker immediately pointed to Davor.

He never considered himself a leader. He preferred hanging out with friends in small groups.

But Davor disagreed. He pointed to Suker and explained:

"I don't think he fully realizes his leadership qualities yet. Leadership isn't just one thing—it's a combination of performance, personality, how you interact with others, and more. So I think Suker has better leadership, and I look forward to the day he wears the Croatian captain's armband!"

Suker frowned. "Make me captain? Spare me! I'm not like Srna. I can't take care of people like he does."

Next, Klaus Havel asked many questions about the two, and they both answered.

"Final question: Croatia's greatest player!"

Suker immediately pointed to Davor Šuker.

Davor initially wanted to point to Suker but hesitated and pointed to himself.

Klaus Havel was surprised. He asked Suker first, "Why did you choose Davor?"

Suker shrugged. "He's a player I admire, so I chose him."

Suker wasn't lying. Even though he often acted casually around Davor, he truly respected him.

Or rather, he was grateful to Davor Šuker.

When Suker first joined Dinamo Zagreb, Davor had selflessly taught him how to play.

During his important retirement ceremony, Davor had shifted the spotlight to Suker, successfully passing on the number 9 legacy.

Even after retiring, Davor had worked tirelessly behind the scenes to help Suker with transfers and secure better opportunities.

Although AC Milan was negotiated by Boban, it was Davor Šuker who had reached out to Boban in the first place.

Without Davor, Boban wouldn't have gotten involved.

So, Suker was deeply grateful to Davor and therefore chose him.

"Davor?" Klaus Havel asked.

Davor smiled. "Actually, I initially wanted to choose Suker, but then I thought—wouldn't the person who discovered Suker be even greater?"

Suker immediately made a disgusted face.

Klaus Havel also looked awkward.

Davor waved his hand. "Okay, that joke didn't land. The real reason I didn't choose him is that I don't think it's enough yet. He's already achieved more than me at the club level and in the Euros, and I'm happy for him. But I didn't choose him because I want more."

"I hope he doesn't become complacent or stop improving. I hope one day he can lead us to the World Cup final or even lift the World Cup trophy!"

"I know this puts a lot of pressure on him, but I believe he can handle it. If one day he helps Croatia win the World Cup, and you ask me this question again, I won't hesitate to point to him!"

Davor looked into the camera and said with a smile:

"I hope we won't have to wait too long. Preferably three years from now!"

Hearing this, all three burst into laughter!