[80] Grade 11: Spring National High School Competition
On the stands of the audience.
For the team members who are prone to sparks when they meet, the relationship between Coach Otokoma and Coach Tomi is quite good—after all, they are from the same school in the same area and occasionally interact.
So after meeting twice by chance, they ended up sitting together in the final round.
At this moment, they were also discussing the rumored competition for the Crane Cry Pavilion.
Because the frequency of changes in the main players at Heming Hall is too high, it has already sparked a lot of speculation both on the forum and offline.
The most credible rumor at present is that "the formal training camp before the competition eliminated players who were not strong enough".
“So,” the supervisor suddenly realized, “their ability to have so many talented children is probably not just a matter of good luck.”
"It's all thanks to the brutal internal competition mechanism, the constant survival of the fittest and the renewal of personnel, that they've been able to maintain such a high overall standard, right?"
“It’s not just about competition,” the cat supervisor said, pressing his notebook. “Their tactical system is very modular. No matter who comes on, they can quickly integrate into the whole. It’s like building blocks. As long as the interfaces match, changing a few blocks won’t affect the overall structure.”
The superintendent stroked his chin and murmured, "So that's how it is... It's not about relying on any one person, but on the system's institutions."
"But wouldn't it be difficult to implement such a system? It's really strange how they manage to control the mental state of their own players." Coach Daisui shook his head regretfully.
Although he was very envious of the efficient yet harsh system of Tsurumeikan, Director Daisui also knew very well that this model would not work at all in their Tomi district.
The cat coach standing nearby also expressed some appreciation and envy for the Crane Sound Hall's system.
But as the flood supervisor said, this system is too difficult to implement.
Perhaps for mature athletes who see volleyball as a profession, this brutal rule of purely relying on strength and survival of the fittest has a relatively small impact, and a strong sense of professional goals can also ensure the team's cohesion to a certain extent.
But for these high school students who are at a critical stage of their development, this system, which only considers ability and has almost no humanistic care, may cause devastating damage.
It could stifle potential that needs time to blossom, or destroy team spirit built on encouragement and inclusion.
The sensitive minds of teenagers may not be able to withstand such direct and heavy competitive pressure.
The indispensable foundation of Soundkoma lies in the team's cohesion and the deep trust among its members.
The cat supervisor glanced at the members of the Sound Horse team who were playing around not far in front of him.
Therefore, the same approach used by Hemingguan would not work on Yinko either.
However, the defense of the Crane Pavilion is still worth learning from.
The "floor tactic" that caught everyone's attention during the IH National Tournament—a first pass formation with libero Saotome as the core, flexibly directing and mobilizing multiple players to participate in the support—is a prime example.
From the more mature and complete "blocking and defense integration" system they have demonstrated at the National Spring High School Championships, their defensive evolution trajectory is clearly visible, with each step hitting a key point in improving overall defense.
On the field, at the referee's signal, both teams tacitly stopped warming up.
Next up is the stage for the Spring High School National Finals.
The cat supervisor opened the notebook that he had been repeatedly stroking.
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"That's terrifying."
Oikawa Tetsu leaned back on the sofa, limply sticking to it like a soft-bodied animal.
"What's so scary?"
Iwaizumi, sitting meticulously beside him, turned to look at him upon hearing this.
“Tsurumeikan,” Oikawa pointed at the television screen, “don’t you think they’re scary?”
Iwaizumi crossed his arms, his brows furrowed slightly, and did not answer immediately, but instead focused his gaze more intently on the figures on the screen.
“I could feel the almost one-sided pressure even through the screen,” Oikawa continued. “The cheers from Fukutani were like a tsunami. But look at them—”
His fingertips touched the faces of the Heming Pavilion team members on the screen through the void.
"They don't seem to be affected at all."
As Oikawa pointed out, in this spring high school final, Tsurumeikan was indeed slightly inferior in terms of the scale and intensity of the support.
Although the support team at Heming Hall was well-trained, performed the school song with great momentum, and cheered for the team with a strong sense of conviction, the situation was quite different in the vast stands outside the support area.
After all, Heming Hall is a rising star school that has emerged this year. Even though they have already won the IH National Championship once, they are still as "new" as can be in the world of high school volleyball.
However, Xiaogu is a veteran powerhouse with a deep foundation, having entered the national competition multiple times for five consecutive years.
This match is indeed very exciting, but there is an objective gap between the two sides in terms of the number of supporters, organization, and national popularity.
Not to mention, they were in Fukutani's home turf—Tokyo.
Compared to Fukutani, who has made it to the national tournament multiple times and accumulated a deep fan base in Tokyo and even across the country, Tsurumeikan's supporters are obviously no match in terms of numbers.
Looking around, the majority of the spectators in the stands were local spectators cheering for Xiaogu.
When Fukutani hit a great shot, the deafening cheers almost lifted the dome of the stadium.
When Heming Hall scores, you can often only hear a relatively faint cheer from your own support area, which is then drowned out by the roar of the home crowd.
This huge difference in atmosphere between home and away games puts extra pressure on the away team, while also instilling stronger confidence and momentum in the home team.
Despite facing such an unfavorable away game, the players of Heming Stadium displayed a composure beyond their years.
They seem to be able to block out the noise from the outside world and focus all their attention on the game itself. Every serve and every defense maintains a high level of focus and strong discipline.
Especially Jin Chuchuan, whose golden eyes remained calm and still amidst the cacophony of noise, as if everything around him was irrelevant.
“Ah. It’s not ‘seems,’ it’s that we were definitely not affected.” Oikawa corrected himself.
“Look at their eyes, especially Imadegawa. In this atmosphere that can almost swallow you up, his eyes are still so calm, and his ball-handling movements are completely unchanged.”
Oikawa couldn't help but exclaim, "This kind of mental fortitude... it's just too strong!!!"
"In a final like this, especially an away game, it's easy for the audience's opinions to influence their mentality, making them either hesitant or eager to perform. But they..."
“They’ve blocked out the outside world,” Iwaizumi said thoughtfully.
“Yes—” Oikawa nodded, “It’s like he can shut his ears and not listen to the sounds outside.”
"That's wonderful!"
Oikawa rested his chin on his hand.
"No wonder they were able to make it all the way to the finals. Techniques can be practiced, tactics can be learned, but the ability to completely withstand pressure under high pressure is something not everyone can have."
"Tsk, what a bunch of monsters."
The two remained silent for a moment, watching as the Crane Cry Pavilion calmly organized an effective multi-point attack once again amidst the tsunami-like cheers of the Owl Valley on the screen.
——————————
For Imaichi Kazukawa, dealing with pressure is something he's become accustomed to.
For a pure science student focused on academic research, the days of stagnation and not being able to produce anything are terrifyingly long.
The mental pressure and torment caused by a lack of ideas or failed experiments are far more terrifying than the shouts of a few thousand people on the sidelines of the stadium.
It was during countless late nights wrestling with complex formulas that he learned how to shut out all external distractions and focus all his attention on the "problem" itself that needed to be solved.
This intense focus, honed through training, was perfectly applied by Imadegawa to the volleyball court.
Therefore, the overwhelming shouts of the supporters of Fukutani were nothing more than background noise that needed to be filtered out in his ears.
For the rest of the Crane Cry Pavilion, these one-sided cheers and shouts had no effect on them.
As for Saotome, he had long heard all sorts of questions about his height and dissatisfaction with being chosen as a regular player—not in Tsurumeikan, but in the distant, dark past before he was selected by the system—as well as the inexplicable complaints from his teammates after losing matches.
Therefore, the noise and criticism from the outside world could hardly penetrate his heart.
Saotome only truly cares about the opinions and evaluations of him from within the Tsurumeikan and from his teammates who fight alongside him—especially Imadegawa.
Their approval is what makes him stand on the field; their trust is the source of his confidence to dive and save the ball without hesitation.
As for the audience members in the stands who have no connection with him?
Whether they applauded or booed, it was nothing more than the sound of wind passing by Saotome's ears, not stirring the slightest ripple in his heart.
Saotome's world is very small, so small that it can only accommodate that 9-meter-wide and 18-meter-long field, and her teammates wearing the same team uniforms on the field.
Saotome could even catch Koizumi's soft reminders beside him, or Imadegawa's concise instructions in front of him, amidst the clamor directed at the away team—these were the only sounds he needed to hear.
For Aoyagi, what truly triggers his stress response is not the invisible pressure, but the tangible "sight"—yes, sight, not sound.
He is naturally extremely uncomfortable with the gaze of others on him. The feeling of being watched is like fine needles pricking his skin, making him instinctively want to curl up and hide in a corner where no one can see him.
Choosing volleyball, a sport destined to be under the spotlight, means that Aoyagi must constantly fight against this instinct and force himself to endure and adapt to the unavoidable scrutiny.
In contrast, external opinions—whether praise or criticism—are of no concern to Aoyagi.
Aoyagi's internal criteria for judgment only concern whether he has met his own pre-set requirements in volleyball, rather than the opinions of others.
The pressure of playing away from home and the cheers of the opponent's supporters have little impact on Aoyagi.
What could truly make Aoyagi waver slightly on the field was a moment when a gaze from the audience that was too sharp or lasted too long was caught by his sensitive nerves.
Even so, Aoyagi would immediately suppress this discomfort and focus more intently on the volleyball flying through the air.
For Aoyagi, volleyball itself is the most effective barrier to isolate him from all external interference.
If you focus all your attention on every jump and every block, those unsettling stares seem to become bearable.
————————!!————————
(Sucking the little ones' paws) I lie down listlessly; that wicked September has drained my energy.
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