Diving off the old bridge is a hallmark of the town of Mostar.
Young locals put on diving performances during the summer, but during this season, there are few divers—mainly because the weather isn't hot enough and the Neretva River is fast-flowing and freezing cold.
This is not a good season for diving!But for Suke, who was strapped for cash, nothing was more deadly than "poverty."
Besides, he needed enough money to maintain proper nutrition.
Before the tourists could even react, Suke was already walking among them with a metal basin in hand and a sweet smile on his face, starting his collection round.
Tourists couldn't bring themselves to dislike this naturally approachable-looking boy. Many gave out of pity, and some out of curiosity.
Suke wandered through the crowd, harvesting Marks.
Some gave 5 Marks, others 10, and some couples gave even more.Suke happily ran around collecting the money—performing and getting paid, what could be more justified?
When he encountered tourists who still looked puzzled, he would emphasize again:
"Give me money!""Dive!"
Soon, Suke stopped in front of a boy. He looked left and right but didn't spot any sign of the boy's parents.
The boy wore a hood with the zipper pulled high, covering his nose and mouth, leaving only a pair of dark eyes visible.
Suke scratched his head. Not wanting to give up, he repeated:"Give me money!""Dive!"
The boy remained unmoved.
Suke mimicked a diving gesture and pointed to the river below, emphasizing again,"Diving show!"
Still no response.
"Is this guy mute?" Suke muttered, annoyed.
Then, the boy suddenly snapped, "You're the mute!"
Suk froze for a moment—the boy had used Croatian.
Bosnia and Herzegovina lies in the Balkans and borders several countries. Its internal language landscape is also complex.
The most commonly spoken languages are Bosnian, Serbian, and Croatian.
Suke was confused and asked, "Are you local?"
The boy again said nothing.
"What's wrong with you!" Suke cursed and moved on to collect more money.
The boy turned to watch Suke and didn't leave. His expressive eyes sparkled with curiosity.
He wanted to know if this little guy would really dive—or if he was just scamming people.
To him, the scam theory seemed far more likely.
After all, this wasn't a suitable season for diving.
Under the boy's watchful gaze, Suke finished collecting another round of money, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket. Only then did he begin taking off his clothes, leaving on just a pair of briefs.
In just briefs, Suke's pale skin and visible ribs made it clear he was still just a child.
He folded his clothes and found a busy spot near the bridge to place them. Pointing to the tourists, he said:"Watch these for me."
The tourists smiled and made "OK" gestures.
At this point, the boy's face was full of surprise.
He's really diving?Before he could react further, the atmosphere around the bridge turned lively.
Suke grabbed the iron railings and skillfully flipped over the outer edge of the old bridge. He raised his hands and shouted to the tourists:"Follow my rhythm!"
Then he began clapping slowly.Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!
The surrounding tourists smiled and clapped along, enjoying the vibe.
Under Suke's lead, the clapping grew more synchronized and faster, like an accelerating drumbeat.
Some tourists even began to shout and cheer loudly.
Clapclapclapclapclapclapclap!Stop!
Like a conductor, Suke clenched both hands, and the area fell silent.
Everyone watched as the skinny boy took a deep breath and, with a powerful push from his toes, leapt into the air, arcing in mid-air like a fish leaping over a dragon gate—head down, feet up, plunging straight into the icy river.
"Ahhhhhhh—!""He jumped!!!""Oh my God!!"
The bridge burst into cries of alarm, with people rushing toward the edge.
The hooded boy also ran forward quickly.
One wrong move in this season, and it could mean death.
Splash!Water sprayed everywhere as Suk disappeared beneath the surface.
The rushing river rippled briefly before returning to calm—Suke was nowhere to be seen.
"No way…""Where is he?""Should we call an ambulance?"
The crowd began to murmur anxiously, and the hooded boy looked around in worry.
Just then, splashing sounds came from the shore nearby.
The crowd turned to see Suke emerging from the riverbank.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Under the crowd's gaze, Suke bolted to the shore, then turned to the bridge and struck a bodybuilder pose, spreading his arms and shouting loudly:
"Come on!!!—"
Instantly, the bridge exploded with wild cheers and thunderous applause.
Listening to the applause, Suke laughed heartily, gave a gentleman's bow to the bridge, then bounced away down the street and disappeared from view.
"Awesome dive!""Incredible show!""Well done, kid!"
The tourists were full of praise.
Some overly enthusiastic visitors even pulled out more money, asking Suke to dive again.
But Suke only smiled, picked up his clothes, and dashed off under the bridge, vanishing quickly.
The bridge remained abuzz with excitement. The hooded boy stood there, staring at the alley where Suke had disappeared, visibly moved.
Though Suke had hidden it well, his body was still shivering from the cold, lips turning blue, and even his run had a wobble.
This showed that the dive had taken a toll on his body.
No matter the reason—money or not—the boy was deeply shaken by Suk's courage to dive from that bridge.
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The boy lowered his head silently and walked away from the crowd.
He followed a stone path into a small forest trail, turning and winding until he reached a training ground marked with a sign: "Zrinjski Mostar Football Club."
He lowered his zipper and pulled down the hood.
Short tawny hair, thin lips, a sharp nose, and a long face—classic Eastern European features.
This boy was none other than Luka Modrić, the Croatian prodigy who had stirred up Mostar just weeks earlier.
At this time, Modrić was not yet the midfield maestro or Ballon d'Or winner.
His pale, skinny frame gave him a frail appearance.
He walked the dirt path through the club toward the dormitory.
Zrinjski Mostar had decent competitiveness in the Bosnian league, but its finances and facilities were severely outdated.
The dorm was a long two-story building, its walls dry and patchy, with flaking white paint and gray concrete showing signs of age.
Entering through the central door, the corridors were dimly lit.
Most of the first floor was storage. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to the first room on the left.
It looked like a typical college dorm—bunk beds, with signs of habitation only on the lower bunk near the window.
The room was clean, clearly kept tidy.
Modrić hung his coat on a hook on the wall.
Like many young people, he had plastered his walls with posters of football stars.
The majority featured the global icon and "Phenomenon" Ronaldo.
Modrić stood before the posters, his eyes glowing with admiration. No one knew what he was thinking.
After a while, he grabbed his toiletries and went to the washroom to clean up.
The cool towel wiped away the stickiness of sweat, and the breeze made him feel refreshed.
But that icy sensation kept bringing up the image of the boy who had dived from the old bridge.
How had someone smaller than him endured that impact?And what about the courage it took to leap?
Modrić looked at the icy well water flowing from the tap. Spring was still chilly, and the water even colder.
He tentatively placed his arm under the stream, his brows furrowing slightly.
Cold, but not unbearable.
Then he filled a basin, and in one sudden motion, poured it over his head.
Whoosh!"Shhhhhh—!"
He gasped loudly. His whole body trembled from the chill.
It was hard to imagine being submerged in that kind of water.
"That kid's crazy," Modrić shivered, gritting his teeth.
Then looking at his own reflection in the mirror, he couldn't help muttering again:"Crazy!"
He dried off, returned to his room, sat at the desk by the window, and began writing a letter.
"Dear Bešić,This is my fourth week in Mostar. I miss home, and the people there. Of course, I miss you too."
"What happened in Zagreb was a real shame. After you left, they quickly gave up on me. I understand what they were after, so I didn't stay. I'm your student, and I believe you'll return to Zagreb. Don't forget to take me home when you do!"
He paused, thought for a moment, and continued writing:
"The Bosnian league is rough—no, brutal. This style has really hurt my performance. To avoid challenges, I've had to run a lot more. Luckily, I've found some tricks. I think you'd be proud."
"I don't know how long I'll be here, but definitely not for long. Like you once said—I'm a genius. I can do things others can't."
"Of course, these guys here always question my passes. Their pig brains only know how to run forward. They have no idea about teamwork or passing."
At this, a smirk crept across Modrić's face—but it quickly faded into dejection.
"I have no friends here. And I don't want to be friends with idiots. I believe this is a trial from God, and I will pass it—like always. Of course, maybe I need a little courage to break some of my old habits too…"
For some reason, the image of the bridge-diving boy surfaced again.
He shook his head and blacked out that last line, muttering with disdain:
"They're the ones who need to change!"
Gathering his thoughts, Modrić wrote his closing lines:
"The season is almost over. This season was just for adapting. Next season, I'll show everyone what a genius can do. And those fools who loaned me out—I'll give them a loud slap in the face!"
"That's it for this week's report.Love, Luka."
After finishing the letter, he carefully folded it and slipped it into an envelope, then lay down on his bed for a short nap.