Mario Mandžukić, also known as Super Mario.
He was the next highly efficient Croatian striker after Davor Šuker.
There has always been much debate in the football world about Mandžukić—so believe he's a second-tier striker, others see him as nearly first-rate, but still a step away from being a top-class center forward.
Mandžukić is a passionate player, and also a stubborn one.
He has had tactical disagreents with multiple managers, which eventually led to falling-outs.
But in terms of ability, he is undoubtedly very tough.
Šuker sized up Mandžukić, and Mandžukić did the sa in return.
Introduced by Jategenić, the two exchanged nas.
"I'll leave the upstairs space for you. I move around a lot and make noise, so I don't want to disturb your rest," Mandžukić said to Šuker.
Turns out this guy is actually quite considerate.
Šuker went up to the second floor, which had a private bathroom and bedroom, with a very comfortable environnt overall.
While he was laying out the bedding, Mandžukić even helped enthusiastically.
The two of them started chatting during this process.
"You guys used to play in Bosnia?" Mandžukić asked, sowhat surprised.
Although he had never played in Bosnia himself, he had heard of how rough the Bosnian league was.
Looking at Šuker and Modrić's rather small and thin builds, he couldn't help but wonder how they survived in Bosnia.
After helping Šuker make the bed, Modrić and Jatrgenić left.
Šuker stayed upstairs for a while before heading downstairs.
"Mario! You going to the cafeteria?"
Mandžukić was doing jump training to improve his leg explosiveness.
Hearing Šuker's words, he checked the ti and said, "Wait for a bit."
After Mandžukić changed clothes, the two headed to the cafeteria together.
They chatted along the way.
"I used to play as a center forward, but now I've moved to the wing," Šuker said, gesturing to his height. "We're not competing for the sa spot."
He felt Mandžukić was a little guarded toward him.
Mandžukić didn't deny it—he simply nodded.
"But your situation isn't great," Šuker smiled. "You're up against Davor Šuker!"
He expected Mandžukić to be intimidated, but the guy looked serious and said, "I'll work to keep him on the bench."
Šuker looked at him in surprise.
Most people would find it hard to even think of competing with Davor Šuker, considering his achievents and stature in Croatian football.
But clearly, Mandžukić wasn't like most people.
For him, competition was not an insult—it was a way of showing respect.
He wanted to surpass Davor Šuker with his performance and prove himself.
"I used to live in Germany, where I laid my football foundation. I thought I could start my professional career there, but so circumstances forced my family back to Croatia. Since then, I've been playing for a club in Marsonia."
"My goal in coming here is simple: to return to Germany!"
Mandžukić said seriously, "I will play in one of the top five European leagues!"
Šuker, anwhile, focused on eating and didn't even bother replying.
alti is for eating—what's there to chat about?
If you don't eat enough, you won't grow!
Šuker had a massive appetite—bigger than Mandžukić's. He ate three bowls of rice, two steaks, and a salad before patting his stomach in satisfaction.
"Have you always eaten this much?"
Mandžukić looked at Šuker's empty trays in astonishnt.
Šuker might be the biggest eater he knew.
"My body burns a lot of energy, and I have a great tabolism."
"If your absorption is so good, why aren't you taller?" Mandžukić asked reflexively, then caught Šuker's resentful glare.
"Sorry, I didn't an it," Mandžukić apologized sincerely.
Šuker waved it off. "I've grown a lot already—used to be 150 cm, now I'm almost 170!"
Mandžukić looked at him—he didn't seem taller than 165 cm. How did that beco 170?
But this ti, he didn't say anything.
After dinner, the two returned to their dorm.
Šuker went straight to the bedroom upstairs. He was exhausted from the journey over the past couple of days.
But before sleeping, it was ti to collect his reward.
Šuker hadn't yet claid his seasonal reward, the highlight of each year.
He opened the card-draw interface.
There weren't any major changes—still the sa locked pages.
However, the ancient-style patterns on the screen had grown more vivid, the glowing lines brighter.
Šuker couldn't tell what exactly had changed—perhaps the new season's draws would be different.
Back on the draw screen, Šuker initiated his season reward draw.
The most anticipated part: the attribute cards.
These cards, which directly boost physical stats, were his favorite.
Five cards appeared before him.
"Wow!"
Šuker couldn't help but exclaim.
One red card, two yellow cards, and two attribute cards.
Incredibly generous rewards.
The two attribute cards thrilled him. And then there were the yellow cards—and even a red card.
He opened the red card first.
As expected—Status Recovery Card 1.
He was used to it by now, and quickly moved on to the yellow cards.
There were two.
[Yellow Card (Skill Card): Vampeta's Dribbling — Though a backup in Brazil's national team, Vampeta was often a core player in various clubs. Known for his footwork, he was a cunning playmaker with excellent ball control.]
Šuker was surprised.
To many, Vampeta might be an unfamiliar na. After all, in Brazil's star-studded 2002 squad, he didn't stand out much.
But to make the Brazilian national team at all proves his undeniable ability.
This card gave Šuker a massive improvent in dribbling.
With such a strong start, he imdiately looked to the other yellow card, hoping for another practical boost.
But when he saw the card, he froze.
[Yellow Card (Special Card): Balotelli's Awareness — A thinker on the field. If Balotelli focused on football, his talent could have taken him far. But alas, he thinks too much!]
Balotelli was once known as "world-class below the neck."
The only flaw? His brain.
And the system just gave Šuker that very flaw!
Balotelli's brain!
What good is this?
To make him act foolish?
Šuker was speechless.
Still, staring at the card, he was oddly tempted—he really did want to know what went on in Balotelli's head.
Ultimately, he resisted the urge.
Šuker pulled up his attribute screen.
[Na: Šuker][Height: 166 cm][Weight: 55 kg][Speed: 78 15][Agility: 85][Strength: 70][Explosiveness: 90]
Seeing that he'd grown one more centiter, Šuker couldn't stop smiling.
He applied both attribute cards to Strength.
His speed and explosiveness were already high enough.
What mattered now was improving his ability to maintain control under physical pressure, especially during dribbling.
Having co all the way from the Bosnian league, Šuker deeply understood the importance of withstanding contact.
He didn't need to win every clash—but he had to survive them.
That way, he could keep the play going.
Just as he finished assigning the points, there was a knock at the door.
He got up and opened it.
"Wanna watch the match? The Champions League final's about to start!" Mandžukić invited him.
Šuker raised an eyebrow and imdiately replied, "Wait for !"
He washed up quickly, changed clothes, and dashed downstairs.
The 2002/2003 Champions League Final was an all-Italian clash.
AC Milan vs. Juventus!
This match was star-studded.
Maldini, Pirlo, Gattuso, Inzaghi, Shevchenko, Buffon, Trezeguet, Del Piero—an incredible lineup that had created huge pre-match hype.
But despite the fiery atmosphere, the match turned into a classic Italian-style grind.
Both sides prioritized defense, cautiously pushing forward.
As a result, the ga was slow and uneventful—90 minutes ended in a 0-0 draw.
Even in stoppage ti, neither side could break the deadlock.
Extra ti was even duller.
The match went to a penalty shootout.
AC Milan's Seedorf and Kaladze, along with Juventus's Trezeguet, Zalayeta, and Paolo Montero all missed their shots.
In the end, AC Milan won 3-2 thanks to Shevchenko's decisive penalty.
This victory put AC Milan back at the top of Europe.
Šuker found the match boring—it was too slow.
In contrast, Mandžukić was thrilled.
He admired players like Shevchenko and dread of becoming one himself.
Caught up in the emotion, he got extrely excited.
Especially when Shevchenko scored the winning penalty, he yelled and jumped around.
"That's Shevchenko! So powerful!"
"A true striker—clutch when it counts!"
Mandžukić was ecstatic.
Šuker just responded half-heartedly.
Compared to the high-paced matches of the future, this one lacked intensity and excitent.
Still, as a Champions League final, it was important.
AC Milan had reclaid the European crown, kicking off their golden era.
Little did they know, two seasons later, they'd suffer a historic coback in Istanbul…
Reviews
All reviews (0)