The All-Around Center Forward

The weather in London was still dreary and gray, as if it was perpetually blanketed by a thick layer of clouds.

On windy, rainy days, the raindrops seemed to fly in every direction — umbrellas were practically useless.

Inside a streetside café, two figures sat together.

One was a woman around forty years old, with a ponytail, shorts, a gray shirt, and a pair of sunglasses.

Beside her sat a beautiful woman.

Even though her face was well-concealed with a baseball cap and sunglasses, her tall, elegant figure couldn't be hidden.

Her athletic leggings wrapped tightly around her long, shapely legs, and a loose white T-shirt hung low, covering her hips.

"I regret coming to London for vacation."

Anne Hathaway looked up at the gray sky and the rolling clouds, sighing. "There's never any decent weather here."

"You picked this place yourself," Amanda said helplessly. "Spain, Italy, Switzerland — there were so many good options. Why London?"

Anne Hathaway shrugged. "I don't know. It just felt like a good idea at the time."

Amanda shook her head and stood. "Let's go — feels like it's about to rain."

Just as they were getting up to leave, loud cheers echoed from the nearby street.

"Forward! Croatia!""Forward! Croatia!""Forward! Croatia!"

A massive group of Croatian fans, clad in their national team jerseys, paraded down the street.

Anne Hathaway and Amanda paused, watching curiously.

The march stopped right in front of the café. A young man with a megaphone shouted:

"We are—"

"CROATIA!!!" the crowd of thousands roared in unison.

"We are—"

"The Knights of Eastern Europe!!!"

"Luka Modrić!""Lighting the path of our attack!!!"

"Ivan Rakitić!""The dancing sprite of the pitch!!!"

"Mario!!""Jump! Jump! Score us that goal of glory!"

Suddenly, the fans' expressions turned fervent as they raised their arms and bellowed with all their might:

"Suker!!!!!!!""Suker!!!!!!!""Suker!!!!!!!"

"Be our glory!""Suker!!!!!!!!!!""Suker!!!!!!!!!!""Suker!!!!!!!!!!"

The lead man suddenly turned around.

With thousands of fans, he pointed forward.

"FORWARD!!!""FORWARD!!!""FORWARD!!!"

Watching the procession disappear down the street, Anne Hathaway blinked. "So this is Europe's version of pre-game street hype?"

"You know about that?" Amanda was surprised.

Anne Hathaway smiled. "I know a lot. Judging by their looks, they must be Croatian. Is there a match today?"

Amanda said, "Hang on, I'll ask."

She quickly asked someone nearby and got the answer.

"Tonight at Wembley, it's Croatia versus England. Apparently, it's a decisive match for World Cup qualification."

Anne Hathaway was surprised. "There are still matches before the World Cup?"

Amanda sighed, "How much do you actually know?"

Anne grinned. "Just a little bit."

Then she turned toward the crowd disappearing into the distance. "Croatia, huh..."

"Let's go to the match," she suddenly said.

"So suddenly?" Amanda blinked. "But I don't know if there are any tickets left."

"Scalper tickets! Even if they're expensive, I'll pay." Anne pulled out her wallet. "My treat!"

Amanda smiled wryly. "Fine. The trip to London's a bust anyway. Watching some soccer sounds fun."

Anne suddenly grew serious: "Not soccer — football!"

"In the U.S., we call it soccer, but in the U.K., football is proper football — not American football."

"If you call it soccer to a British fan, they'll correct you very sternly."

Amanda smirked. "How do you even know this stuff? You know the terminology, but not that there are qualifiers before the World Cup?"

At the gates of Wembley Stadium.

Amanda held up two tickets with a sigh. "Only got seats in the England section. All Croatian tickets are sold out."

Anne nodded. "Doesn't matter — we're just here to watch the game. Home or away makes no difference."

Amanda smiled. "I thought you'd want to sit in the Croatian section, since Suker's there."

"What are you thinking?" Anne brushed her hair back. "I'm just here to enjoy the match."

"Alright, let's go in. Want a drink? Some ice-cold beer?"

"They sell alcohol here?"

"Do you even know football?"

"Haha, just a little!"

After shopping, the two entered the stadium with plastic beer cups and popcorn in hand.

As evening approached, the stadium buzzed with energy.

Packed with 90,000 fans, the entire atmosphere felt electrified.

They found their seats — not too far, not too close — perfect for a broad view of the pitch.

"When does it start?"

"Says 6 PM — almost time!"

Anne nodded and looked out at the field.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted with a deafening jeer.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

The mass of fans unleashed a tsunami of boos like an ear-piercing siren. The intensity made Anne shiver.

She'd seen football matches in the U.S., but never anything like this atmosphere.

Who were they booing?

She looked toward the field. Both teams were warming up.

The stadium screen cycled through players' images, but the booing didn't stop.

"I hate this," Anne whispered, leaning closer to Amanda. "How do they play under such hostility?"

"They're coming out!"

Someone yelled, and the air filled with insults and curses.

"F*** you, Suker!"

"Dwarf! Go to hell!"

"You'll taste defeat at Wembley — we swear!"

"We'll beat the sh** out of you!"

The English fans transformed into snarling beasts, their faces twisted with rage as they hurled vulgarities at the field.

Anne looked on, confused and uneasy.

Why such malice?

As a longtime victim of online abuse, she was sensitive to this kind of hostility.

Even behind a screen, she had felt terrified — this was ten times worse.

"How can they play in this? It's awful!" Anne said, trying to suppress her discomfort.

Amanda whispered, "This is football — European football."

The pressure didn't bother Amanda much — it wasn't aimed at her.

But Anne, shaped by years of harassment, felt every word.

"We shouldn't have come," Amanda sighed, trying to comfort her.

On the pitch, players kept warming up.

The wave of boos never subsided.

England fans were applying full pressure on the Croatian players — this was their home turf, and they were using every means to rattle the opponent.

But this Croatian team was no longer made up of green rookies.

Booing?

Doesn't mean a damn thing.

On the pitch, Croatian players in black jerseys continued their flowing passes — calm, precise, fearless.

Surrounded by 90,000 hostile fans, they still fought hard.

No fear.No hesitation.Only hunger for goals.

Anne's eyes fixed on Suker.

Targeted with rough tackles and fouls — even wrestling-style take-downs — he kept getting up without flinching.

He bore the brunt of the hostility.

Everyone booed him.

Everyone mocked him.

Yet he kept charging forward.

Anne's heart began to race.

She didn't know why, but she wanted to cheer for him.

Maybe because she related to that same pressure...

Or maybe she just wanted to support the underdog.

She opened her mouth to yell — but Amanda quickly said:

"Don't!"

Anne looked at her.

Amanda rested her chin on her hand. "If you cheer for Suker, even if you're Anne Hathaway, these English fans will beat you up."

Anne: "…"

She turned back toward the field — and suddenly, the booing stopped.

The whole world seemed to freeze.

"What… happened?"

Anne looked down — and saw the ball in England's goal… and Suker running toward the stands.

As he ran, he raised a finger to his lips.

Anne's heart jolted.

He's telling tens of thousands of English fans to shut up.

A split second later, the booing returned — even louder, like a power drill in the ear.

"He's crazy!" Anne gasped. "He's provoking the whole stadium!"

Amanda: "Sometimes, you need a strong counterattack. That's the only way they learn to shut their mouths."

"Maybe… you should learn from him too."

Amanda smiled. "Be brave, like him — and tell them to shut the hell up!"

"F* you! You fat pig! And you, you bald idiot — your hair's been washed away by London rain! Most things grow with water, but you just get balder!"**

"What're you looking at?! Yeah, I'm talking to YOU! A dwarf?! Ever seen a 6-foot dwarf, you dumb f*?! @#$$%!"**

Suker pointed at the fans and unleashed a furious tirade.

They were stunned speechless.

Anne covered her mouth.

So vulgar… but so satisfying.

Amanda covered her forehead. "Don't copy that part."

On the pitch, after venting, Suker grinned.

"Ahhh… that felt good!"

Just as he turned away, trash rained down from the stands.

"Terrible situation!" the English commentator groaned. "Only 11 minutes in and we're already behind. We've done everything to stop Suker — even fouling — but we still can't prevent him from scoring. This is a nightmare."

Suker jogged back to his half, waving toward the front.

"Srna! I'm satisfied. Now it's your turn!"

Srna's eyes burned with fire.

It's my turn to dominate.Capello, get ready.

"Beautiful! The tactic worked!" shouted assistant coach Van Stoyac.

Bilic nodded, excited. "We're ahead!"

"It's more than just a goal!" Van Stoyac grinned, eyes fixed on Capello. "We started by unleashing Suker to attract all the focus. Scoring was ideal, but even if he didn't score, it'd draw their defense. That opens up space for Kranjčar to overlap on the left!"

"Why Kranjčar? What about the fullbacks?" Bilic asked.

"Simić's job is to defend the left side. He won't overlap."

"Step one: Suker attacks. Step two: Kranjčar overlaps. That'll make Capello think we're targeting the left. If you were him, what would you do?"

Bilic thought. "I'd pull the defense inward, shift Gerrard to the left, adjust the backline…"

He paused.

"That… opens up the right flank!"

"Exactly!" Van Stoyac clapped. "Step three — use the left to open the right."

"But Capello's not stupid. He could ignore the bait and hold his shape."

"That'd be worse!" Vastic grinned slyly. "You doubt our left-side attack?"

Boom! Bilic's mind exploded.

Capello had no choice.Defend left or right — pick one.But he can't ignore Suker. So the right will be exposed.

Bilic muttered, "And you put Srna at right back this game... Simić won't push up. Srna is the hidden blade!"

Sure enough, Capello shifted the backline left.

"It worked!" Bilic was amazed.

Van Stoyac's plan played out perfectly.

The Croatian players executed it flawlessly, and Capello walked straight into the trap.

The ball swung left — Suker received it, but pressure increased.

Gerrard was already there. The whole defense shifted.

Suker smirked, passed back to Modrić, and pushed upfield.

Modrić lobbed it over Gerrard — back to Suker.

Without delay, Suker launched a cross-field switch.

Capello adjusted his glasses and shook his head.

"Trying to hit the right? You think Rakitić can beat Ashley Cole? Dream on."

Then he froze.

From behind Rakitić, a figure surged forward.

Srna!

Rakitić smiled, passed wide.

Zoom!Srna blazed past Cole, cut into the box.

In the six-yard area, he faked a cross — then stopped.

Reverse ball!

Rakitić arrived — smash!

Goal.

England 0 – 2 Croatia.

"Oh my god! Brilliant movement and coordination! Ashley Cole was left spinning!"

"He thought it was a 1v1 with Rakitić, but Srna surged from behind, broke into the box, and fooled everyone with a fake cross and perfect reverse pass. Rakitić slammed it home — no one marking him!"

"What a stunning tactical sequence! I must applaud Bilic for his incredible setup!"

The commentator praised Bilic.

But the Croatian manager stood wide-eyed.

Even though he knew the plan, he hadn't expected it to work this perfectly.

First attack. First goal.

The players executed flawlessly, but it was Van Stoyac's trap that crushed Capello.

21 minutes in, 2–0 lead.

Croatia's pre-match setup and tactics had all landed — perfectly.

Bilic looked at Van Stoyac with complex emotions.

This man… is a true tactical genius.