Mostar, Bosnia – Bakic's Tavern
Bakic held a wine glass in his hand, staring blankly at the television.
Mlinar had a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling in the air. His mouth was slightly open, eyes filled with disbelief.
Oripe shared the same stunned expression.
The entire tavern was eerily silent, with every pair of eyes glued to the TV screen.
The only sound that filled the space came from the Bosnian commentator, Basodaci, his voice full of awe.
"Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable! Dinamo Zagreb already played brilliantly in the first half, but the second half has turned even more intense!"
"Leverkusen, the powerhouse from Germany—they're from one of the top five leagues! But here at Maksimir Stadium, in Dinamo Zagreb's home, they look completely overwhelmed!"
"From the 51st minute, ever since Šuker's first surge, the left-wing attack has rippled across the entire field—Dinamo Zagreb is suppressing Leverkusen!"
"No!" Basodaci exclaimed passionately,
"They're bombarding Leverkusen in a relentless siege!"
On the field, Dinamo Zagreb players were swarming the German side, pushing their formation forward so far that even their center-backs had advanced to midfield.
They were attacking from every direction:
—From the left!—From the right!—From the center!
They kept pressing, trying to stuff the ball into Leverkusen's net.
Facing such a violent onslaught, Leverkusen was forced to retreat, defending desperately.
Their backline was repeatedly torn apart, leaving them dazed and overwhelmed.
"Modrić!! Through ball!!"
Commentator Kraljević suddenly roared.
Dinamo Zagreb fans erupted in a wave of cheers.
Mandžukić made a sharp run, met the pass, and launched a powerful side volley—
BANG!Leverkusen's keeper blocked it with both arms.
The ball rebounded to the left.
Šuker was there.
"No shot for you!"
Leverkusen defender Brack went all in with a slide tackle.
Even if it meant a red card or conceding a penalty, he was determined to stop the shot.
But Šuker nimbly flicked the ball over him and sidestepped the tackle.
Brack grabbed at him with both hands, yanking his jersey.
Šuker struggled forward, teeth clenched, eyes locked on the falling ball.
In the final moment, he stretched his neck forward—
The ball brushed his head and rolled toward the goal.
The shot was weak, but Leverkusen's keeper was just getting up and couldn't regain his balance in time.
He lunged left—
Too late.
The ball crossed the line.
67th minute—Dinamo Zagreb's relentless attack paid off again. Šuker scored on a follow-up header.
"GOAL!!!! ŠUKER!!!!!!"
Kraljević leaped up from the commentary booth, pounding the desk and screaming in excitement.
"Goal! Goal! Goal!"
"In the second half, Dinamo Zagreb looks like a different team! Their offense is fierce—they are bombarding Leverkusen without mercy!"
"My God, this is Leverkusen we're talking about!"
"We are thrashing a Bundesliga powerhouse at home! Unbelievable!"
"But it's true—Dinamo Zagreb now leads 2:1!"
"Šuker scores his second goal of the match!"
"These young men from Dinamo Zagreb have given us a spectacular performance through relentless running and aggressive play!"
Kraljević was overwhelmed with emotion.
"Cheer! Roar! This is destined to be a legendary season!"
"I don't even know how to praise these kids anymore!"
"Yes, we are Dinamo Zagreb! This is our first time in the Champions League group stage! But that's no reason for the arrogant European media to look down on us!"
"Compared to the elite clubs, we're the underdogs. But—"
He shouted powerfully:
"Underdogs are not losers!!"
"Watch us, all of you smug, mocking journalists—look at this match, look at their performance!"
"Is this still just luck?!"
"Whether it's Real Madrid, Roma, or Leverkusen—we're here! Dinamo Zagreb is right here!"
He threw his arms open and roared:
"BRING IT ON!"
In his eyes, he saw those high-spirited youths.
In his ears, the thunderous cheers from Maksimir Stadium howled like a storm, soaring into the sky, crossing the towering Alps, sweeping past the Rhine, and echoing through Western Europe.
The Maksimir Stadium had exploded with excitement.
Dinamo Zagreb fans were on their feet, louder than ever before.
It felt like a hurricane was tearing through the stadium.
And the players? They weren't slowing down either.
They ran harder. Attacked harder.
"Šuker!"
Šuker dribbled horizontally, dragging defenders with a fake move, creating space for Modrić behind him.
Modrić got the ball, made a clever lob pass—
Mandžukić jumped again, heading the ball toward goal.
Ramírez tried to stop him, but couldn't hold him back.
"Butt!"
Ramírez called out in panic.
Leverkusen's goalkeeper Butt dived and slapped the ball away.
Juan cleared it desperately, not caring where it went—just far away from the danger zone.
The ball bounced twice, then was calmly picked up by Zagreb's keeper Gresteč.
He waved a hand:
"Slow it down! Slow it down!"
"Fall back! Come get the ball!"
Gresteč knew he had to manage the tempo. He didn't want the young squad to exhaust themselves too early.
But once the ball was in play again, Zagreb launched another attack down the flank.
"These guys…" Gresteč grinned.
He understood now—there was no stopping this team.
They were playing with confidence, and nothing could slow them down.
Šuker got the ball again—this time he didn't dribble.
He launched a long cross-field pass to the right flank, into open space behind the fullback.
A brilliant switch of play.
Leverkusen's defense had all shifted left—Šuker had spotted the gap on the right.
Valević chased it down, controlled it smoothly.
Though not a natural finisher, Valević was known for his skill and composure.
With no angle to shoot, he passed to Duimović charging in from behind.
Duimović crossed first-time.
"Mario!"
The ball flew into the center—
Mandžukić jumped again!
This time Ramírez couldn't keep up.
"Oh no!"
Leverkusen's defenders panicked.
Mandžukić smashed a header into the net.
Goal number three.
3:1.
WHOOSH!!
The crowd exploded like a gale-force wind.
Dinamo Zagreb fans jumped from their seats, screaming with all their might.
They set the stadium on fire—no, the entire city.
Bars across Zagreb were packed.
Fans cheered wildly, some spilling into the streets, sprinting and shouting in euphoria.
They were leading 3:1.
It was a jaw-dropping performance.
Even the media section was stunned.
They had already been amazed by the first half.
Now Leverkusen looked like they had forgotten how to play football.
"Dinamo Zagreb just runs," a stunned German reporter muttered.
An Italian journalist replied, "But Leverkusen can't run anymore."
Running is the foundation of the game.
Dinamo Zagreb had worn down Leverkusen's stamina with sheer volume and intensity.
By the 71st minute, Leverkusen finally made a long-overdue substitution.
They brought on two defenders—two full-backs.
It was clear they were trying to stabilize their defense.
Leverkusen's coach hadn't lost his mind—sending on attackers against a team that's red-hot with confidence would only lead to a bigger defeat.
If the scoreline got any worse, how would they even play the return leg?
Control the damage. Don't let it get worse. That was Leverkusen's top priority now.
As for the mockery?
Let them laugh.
Coach Vasalas didn't care. Let the world mock.
There were still three more group stage matches—we'll see who laughs last.
Of course, this was humiliating.
But results matter more than pride.
A minor loss can prevent a major one.
Coach Vasalas understood that very well.