The champagne was already flowing.
Dujmović grabbed a bottle from the assistant coach, gave it a vigorous shake, and sprayed it straight at Mandžukić.
Mandžukić, not to be outdone, used his explosive physical power to tackle Dujmović to the ground and upend the champagne bottle right over his head.
Vukojević jumped in next, joining forces with Dujmović as they popped open another bottle.
Modrić, Srna, and the rest of the team joined in the madness.
The entire locker room was in a state of wild celebration.
Meanwhile, Šuker followed Bešić to the post-match press conference.
"Nervous?" Bešić asked just before they stepped on stage.
Šuker shrugged. "What's there to be nervous about?"
Bešić smiled. Šuker's fearless demeanor put him at ease.
As they entered the press room, Šuker's appearance was met with a wave of cheers, especially from the Croatian reporters, who were already chanting his name.
He turned with a smug grin toward the Ukrainian reporters.
"See? This is our superstar genius!"
Naturally, with Dynamo Kyiv's loss, the Ukrainian press was in no mood to celebrate. But they stayed—after all, they still had to get their interviews.
"The first question..."
As soon as the press officer finished speaking, a sea of raised hands shot up from the Croatian reporters.
One was chosen.
"I'm with the Croatian News Agency. I'd like to ask Šuker—how does it feel to make it to the Champions League proper?"
Šuker beamed.
But instead of answering right away, he subtly shook his head and shot the reporter a look.
"Their home turf. Keep it low-key."
This silent exchange had the Croatian journalists chuckling.
The reporter gave Šuker a thumbs-up and sat down.
Some Ukrainian journalists relaxed a bit at that.
Šuker had every right to celebrate, even brag, but he still respected their pride by not answering too provocatively.
Still, not all Ukrainian reporters were satisfied.
"Regarding the second penalty, I have a professional colleague who believes you simulated the foul—dived to win the penalty. What's your response?"
That was clearly a hostile jab.
The Croatian reporters immediately glared at the questioner.
Everyone knew that was a nasty tackle—slow-mo replays clearly showed Rudolf's studs smashing into Šuker's shin. If not for his shin guards, his season could've ended right there.
Šuker was angry too.
He'd suffered serious damage from that challenge—and if it weren't for a recovery boost item he used, his season might really be over.
With fire in his belly, Šuker didn't hold back.
"Does your professional friend have a dog?" he asked.
The Ukrainian reporter frowned, not understanding. "No," he replied.
Šuker raised an eyebrow. "That's strange. He should have a guide dog!"
There was a stunned silence—then the Croatian reporters burst out laughing.
Some even whistled.
It was a brutal comeback.
The reporter claimed Šuker dived—Šuker hit back, calling him blind.
He shrugged again, drawing another round of cheers.
The Croatian press was thrilled.
They had thought Šuker might be a mild-mannered kid like Modrić.
But this guy—he was something else!
The Ukrainian reporter's face turned purple. "Please answer properly."
Answer what?
Šuker waved him off. "Next question."
He clashed with the press throughout.
The Ukrainian reporters were unfriendly.
But Šuker wasn't a pushover. Show respect, and you'll get it back. Cross the line, and he'll come for your whole family.
Soon, he was pounding the table, firing back with "national essence" (aka swearing), and the press officer had no choice but to end the conference.
Bešić escorted him out.
"You're banned from future press conferences," he snapped.
Šuker had started off well—but quickly escalated into full-on verbal combat.
Šuker shrugged.
Fine by him. He'd rather not deal with reporters anyway.
Back in the locker room, he rejoined the celebration, and then they boarded the plane back to Zagreb.
Even though it was nighttime when they arrived, the airport was packed with waiting fans.
As the Dinamo Zagreb team bus rolled out, flashbulbs lit up the darkness.
Reporters snapped photos like mad. Cheers from the crowd came in wave after wave.
They were treated like returning heroes.
"So awesome," Srna said, pressing his face to the bus window, marveling at the scene.
The bus could barely move. Fans were lighting blue flares, and the roar of celebration was deafening.
It took them two full hours to get from the airport to the training base.
If not for the traffic police clearing the way, they might still be stuck there.
Once back at the training center, they didn't head home just yet.
Instead, they gathered in the tactics room.
The Champions League group stage draw was about to begin.
Sixteen teams had advanced through qualification.
They would join the elite who had direct entry to form eight groups. Each group would play six home-and-away matches.
The top two from each group would advance to the knockout phase.
The draw guest was none other than Maradona.
The Argentine legend pulled team after team from the bowls, placing them into the groups.
And finally, the draw was complete:
Group A: Liverpool, Monaco, Olympiacos, Deportivo La CoruñaGroup B: Roma, Real Madrid, Leverkusen, Dinamo ZagrebGroup C: Bayern Munich, Juventus, Ajax, Maccabi Tel AvivGroup D: Lyon, Manchester United, Fenerbahçe, Sparta PragueGroup E: Arsenal, Panathinaikos, PSV Eindhoven, RosenborgGroup F: Inter Milan, Werder Bremen, Valencia, AnderlechtGroup G: AC Milan, Barcelona, Celtic, Shakhtar DonetskGroup H: Chelsea, Porto, Paris Saint-Germain, CSKA Moscow
As soon as Group B was announced, the tactics room fell into stunned silence.
"I must be dreaming," Dujmović said, covering his eyes.
Srna stared at the list, speechless.
Everyone else looked like they couldn't believe what they were seeing.
Why the hell are we in Group B?!
Last season's Serie A runners-up—Roma!Third in the Bundesliga—Leverkusen!And the Galácticos themselves—Real Madrid!
Dinamo Zagreb were nobodies in this group.
With the groups finalized, there was nothing they could do but brace themselves.
Champions League coverage exploded across Europe.
All the major media outlets began analyzing the groups.
But no matter the analysis—Dinamo Zagreb wasn't in the conversation.
To European media, they were irrelevant.
It was their first Champions League appearance, so most fans didn't know them.
But to be completely ignored?
They'd performed brilliantly in the qualifiers, yet now, it was as if they didn't exist.
"Besides us, no one cares about us," Dujmović said, clearly discouraged.
He thought qualifying for the group stage would earn them attention.
Instead, they became invisible.
The group also included Real Madrid—perhaps the most commercialized team in the world.
Under Florentino's "Galáctico" policy of one superstar signing per year, they were a media juggernaut.
Even though they'd only finished fourth the previous season due to their unbalanced, top-heavy squad, they were still the mighty Galácticos.
Too many stars!Ronaldo, Raúl, Zidane, Beckham, Roberto Carlos...
Any one of them was worth more than the entire Dinamo squad combined.
"Attention is earned," Šuker shrugged. "You think just making the group stage is success? This is just the beginning. If you want recognition, then you have to perform."
Srna asked excitedly, "Like what?"
"Take down the Galácticos," Šuker said fiercely.
Srna grinned.
Now that's wishful thinking!
But Šuker didn't think it was impossible.
Galácticos, sure—they looked flashy.
But were they truly strong?
History had already given the answer.
Yes, they had world-class talent.
But their lineup had serious flaws.
Especially after Makelele left—everyone attacked, no one defended.
Coincidentally, Dinamo Zagreb also played an attacking style.
So—attack vs. attack!Both defenses were shaky anyway.In fact, Dinamo might even be slightly better defensively.
So what was there to fear?
To Šuker, stepping onto the Champions League stage meant one thing—no more doubts.
Show who you are.
Compared to giants like Real, Leverkusen, Roma—Dinamo was nothing.
Losing wasn't shameful.Winning, though, would be massive.With the right mindset, who knows—they might just claw their way through.
Šuker thought his teammates were afraid.
But it turned out—they weren't.
They were just bummed about being ignored.
Not fearful of their opponents.
If anything, they were excited.
"We're about to play against Ronaldo!" Srna said, pumped.
"I'll take care of Zidane!" said Vukojević, clenching his fists. "I'll slide tackle him—go all in!"
Mandžukić: "I heard Roberto Carlos has a cannon of a shot. Let's see whose strength wins."
Modrić: "I want to compare my long passes with Beckham!"
Dujmović: "Who do you think is more handsome—me or Beckham?"
Everyone turned to him.
"Pfft!"
Šuker rolled his eyes.
If you're going to compare, at least make it fair.
That big face of yours compared to Beckham?
Who gave you the confidence?
Standing to the side, Bešić listened to their chatter, a smile tugging at his lips.
Rookies with no fear.
But this—this was the spirit they needed.
So what if they were facing titans?
So what if it was the Galácticos?
One word—fight!