"Here!"
"Again!!"
"Keep going!!"
At Carrington No. 9, Manchester United's training ground, Cristiano Ronaldo was sweating profusely during training.
His training jersey was soaked through, hanging on the nearby rail dripping water—showing just how intense his session was.
Modrić placed the ball at the corner arc, raised his hand to signal, then took the corner kick.
He had repeated this motion countless times already.
But Ronaldo kept leaping up to challenge for the ball each time.
Modrić had never seen anyone train so hard, as if training was the only thing in his life.
Back in the days at Šibenik Dinamo, Mandžukić was definitely the hardest worker in training, but he still couldn't match Ronaldo.
As for Suker, Modrić believed it was pure talent.
Even now, Modrić thought no one in the football world had more talent than Suker.
Regarding Ronaldo, Modrić admired him greatly—this admiration came from Ronaldo's strict self-discipline.
He couldn't say exactly what Ronaldo was like off the pitch, but in terms of professional attitude, Ronaldo was definitely number one!
Thud!
Ronaldo lost his footing and fell on his back.
Modrić grabbed an energy drink and walked over, placing the cold bottle on Ronaldo's hot forehead.
Ronaldo felt a refreshing chill spread through his body.
"Thanks!"
He gasped for air, then used the drink to rinse his mouth.
Modrić sat beside him and softly said, "Take a break. Your body can't handle this forever."
Ronaldo nodded, but his expression dimmed a little.
"We lost the last match, right?"
Modrić: "A home draw is basically a loss."
Images of Suker's unstoppable breakthroughs in empty spaces flashed in Ronaldo's mind.
Even now, he couldn't help but admire Suker's movement off the ball, his passing decisions, and his confidence in front of goal.
These all left a huge psychological impact on the young Ronaldo.
He thought he trained very hard, had great talent—but in yesterday's match, he still couldn't turn the tide.
He failed to bring victory to Manchester United.
What made him angriest was that, in the last moments, he stopped running.
But Suker kept running!
"How does Suker train his stamina?" Ronaldo asked Modrić.
Modrić: "Don't even compare your stamina with his."
"Tell me honestly, who has better talent—me or Suker?"
"Do you want the truth?"
"Never mind!" Ronaldo grinned, "You'd definitely say Suker, since you're closer to him."
Modrić looked at Ronaldo.
"Suker's talent is real, but talent isn't everything." Modrić said softly: "Let me tell you a story. Back when we were playing in the Bosnian league, Suker was only about 160 cm tall."
"Really that short?" Ronaldo was surprised, "I thought those photos were fan edits!"
Modrić shook his head: "That was his difficult situation back then. But he never complained. Like you, he doesn't complain about circumstances but works hard for victory. We played against Sarajevo FC then. They had a Suker too—a tall striker near 190 cm, and that was Suker's biggest envy."
"And… did you win?" Ronaldo asked curiously.
"Yes!" Modrić said calmly. "We beat them badly."
"That must have felt great." Ronaldo raised his eyebrows with a smile. "Suker must have been happy defeating a 'stronger version' of himself."
Modrić turned to look at him.
His gaze made Ronaldo feel a little strange.
"Suker wasn't that happy. He said bitterly: 'I had such good conditions, why did I play so badly?'" Modrić shook his head. "Everyone else was happy he won, but he wasn't. That 'Suker' wasn't his goal. He wasn't satisfied. Even after a win, he kept his ambition alive."
"Before the match, someone asked me who was more talented—the two Sukers?"
"My answer was, Sarajevo's Suker had more talent, but Suker was better for our team."
Pausing, Modrić turned to Ronaldo.
"So I want to say, Suker is indeed stronger than you now, but you're more suitable for us. Do you get what I mean?"
Ronaldo shook his head repeatedly.
"Idiot!" Modrić sighed. "Football is a team sport. You need 11 players to play. If you put 11 wrong players together, no matter how talented individually, it's useless. But 11 right players together can create miracles."
Modrić gave Ronaldo an encouraging look.
"What you need to do is be the best version of yourself, not compare yourself to others!"
Ronaldo seemed to gain some insight, lowered his head silently for a moment, then suddenly said:
"What if there were 11 players who are both strong and suitable?"
Modrić: "…"
Modrić silently turned and walked away.
Ronaldo laughed and grabbed Modrić's shorts.
"I was wrong! I was wrong!"
"Let me go! You stubborn perfectionist! Keep nitpicking yourself to death!"
"I was really wrong, give me 50 passes!"
"Who do you want to tire out?"
"20! Just 20!"
"Get lost!"
"10!" Ronaldo grabbed Modrić's ankle loudly, "Just 10! I swear!"
Modrić was easy to coax.
In the end, Ronaldo got his passes as he wished.
And after this talk, he felt closer to Modrić than before.
Inside Milan's locker room, Suker rubbed his chest.
Kaká asked, "What's wrong?"
Suker shook his head. "Don't know, my heart feels a bit sour."
"Sour?" Kaká asked, "What does that feel like?"
"Like being cheated on!"
Inzaghi murmured.
"Get lost!"
Suker cursed: "You're the one who got cheated on!"
Inzaghi suddenly fell silent.
Suker rolled his eyes.
Kaká was stunned for a moment, then patted Inzaghi on the shoulder and comforted: "Filippo, you're still charming. Don't mind this. You'll find a good woman."
Suker watched Inzaghi struggle to hold back laughter.
"You—"
"Ha ha ha ha ha!!!"
Inzaghi burst into laughter, clutching his stomach and pointing at Kaká.
"Too easy to fool, you're so gullible!"
"Me getting cheated? That's a joke. I'm happy enough without a green card Kardashian! Ha ha ha?"
Inzaghi noticed Suker raising his phone, pointing it at him.
"Go ahead!"
Suker said, "I'm recording."
"You son of a—!"
Inzaghi lunged, but Suker dodged with a flick of his foot.
"Who isn't a killer! Ha~ can't catch me! Can't catch me!"
Suker ran circles inside the locker room, while Inzaghi kept lunging to snatch the phone.
Suker threw the phone to Kaká.
Inzaghi lunged at Kaká.
Kaká tossed it to Pirlo.
Inzaghi lunged at Pirlo.
Pirlo passed it to Suker standing by the door.
Suker grabbed his phone and ran off.
"I'm outta here!"
He dashed out, with Inzaghi's roaring chasing behind.
But Inzaghi catching Suker was impossible.
As for the video, Inzaghi had to accept defeat.
At least until he broke up with his girlfriend, Suker was not to be crossed.
This guy was truly capable of leaking such videos.
Suker hid in a corner of Milan's training ground.
Only after Kaká arrived by car did he get in.
"Where's Filippo?"
"On a date!" Kaká shrugged.
Suker grinned: "That guy really... Champions League semi-finals right in front of him, and he's off dating. One day, he'll die in a woman's arms."
Kaká smiled, humming a tune as he drove.
Suker asked, "Anything good happen?"
Kaká: "Liverpool won!"
"Oh?" Suker smiled.
In the first leg of the Champions League semi-finals, Liverpool had a 1-0 away win against Chelsea.
This was crucial news for Milan.
They now had a chance for revenge.