VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Meanwhile, Reika is already distracted, fussing with a brand-new camera she bought just yesterday. The very fact she brought it here says everything. She’s prepared, more than anyone expects.

She starts it with Ryohei and Okabe in sparring, two boys trading stiff jabs. But only for half a minute, then her lens drifts, inevitably to Ryoma.

The rope sings around him, his steps light and precise. Each flick of his ankle, each shift of weight, turns into something almost unreal, an elegant dance above the canvas, as if he’s gliding on water.

And Reika can’t even look away, mesmerized. The talk about promotional video is just a lie. This is what she came for.

Her expression changes without her noticing. At first, it’s just the focus of a camerawoman…

“Alright… subject one, light training sequence. Documenting rhythm, stamina, footwork.”

But then her narration falters. The words trail off, replaced by silence she can’t push away.

Her cheeks flush, her lips part slightly as her breath quickens. The sparkle in her eyes lingers too long on Ryoma’s footwork, then on the rhythm of his body moving in perfect sync.

And then to his face.

Heat creeps up her neck, and she bites her lip, fighting the ridiculous urge to rush forward, maybe to dance along with him, inside the rope.

In her whole life, Reika has never hidden her interest in anything. Always bold, always determined to grab what she wants.

But now… the urge to show her feelings crashes just as hard as the fear of losing everything if she does.

She knows Ryoma already has a girlfriend. The thought twists like a knife.

But she has no intention of letting him go.

And it stings.

The moment lingers, until…

“Reika!” Aki calls. “It’s time to go.”

Reika lowers the camera with a scowl tugging at her lips, but Aki is already heading for the exit.

With a reluctant sigh, Reika shuts off her recorder and follows, shoulders tight with quiet frustration.

At the doorway she calls back, “I’ll show the video to my father.”

“Please, do,” Nakahara replies with a warm smile.

The door closes behind her.

And Ryoma stops the rope, glancing over with a flat expression.

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Ryoma’s face wrinkles. That’s already the third time in this week the system no longer behave like a robot.

“Just… shut up, would you?”

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Then, the system is back to its robotic voice.

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***

The days roll on, and Reika never misses a visit to Nakahara’s gym. Sometimes she arrives with Aki, but more often than not, she comes alone.

By now, she looks less like a guest and more like Nakahara’s secretary. Always hovering nearby, always scribbling mysterious notes in that little notebook of hers.

Just yesterday she brought gifts. Not flowers, not chocolates, but kettlebells, a landmine barbell, a medicine ball, and… perhaps the strangest of all, a few sets of boxing resistance suits.

It’s the exact kind of tools Ryoma desperately needs to sharpen his punching power. And here he is now, strapped into one of those resistance suits, elastic cords tugging at his every move as he shadowboxes.

Ryoma thinks the gear comes from Nakahara’s budget. He has no idea Reika bought them. And she doesn’t tell him, because for her, watching him sweat and struggle is already its own quiet reward.

Reika leans against the wall, her smile soft, her eyes warm with the unmistakable glow of a girl hopelessly, shamelessly in love.

“By the way,” Nakahara steps up beside her, towel slung around his neck. “That video. The one you filmed the other day. Did you show it to your father?”

The question jolts her out of her daydream. “What?”

“That video,” he repeats, “the training footage. Did you show it to him?”

“My father…?” she blinks, then nods quickly. “Ah, yes. I showed it to him. And… well, he’s begun to take some interest. That’s why he’s invested a little into this gym. Only a little, though.”

Nakahara waves her modesty away. “No, no. You’ve helped more than enough already. For a gym this small, with our resources stretched as thin as they are, those tools are priceless. Especially for Ryoma. He needs them if he’s going to face Serrano.”

Reika exhales softly, almost relieved. “I’m glad… truly glad I could help.”

Across the mat, Ryoma wipes the sweat from his brow. And Reika seizes the opening. She darts to her bag, pulling out a chilled bottle of electrolytes she’s been carrying around just for this moment.

“Here,” she says quickly, stepping into his path before anyone else can.

Ryoma pauses. Normally, he’d brush her off with a half-hearted grunt, but today something softens. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s the heat radiating off his own body, maybe it’s just her persistence.

“Thanks,” he mutters, and takes it.

The bottle tilts back, liquid vanishing in one long pull.

Reika lingers, gaze fixed on him, the sweat dripping from his jawline, the way his chest heaves as thirst turns to relief. For her, watching him drink feels strangely like quenching her own thirst.

And then she blurts out, pretending ignorance, eyes flicking toward the resistance suit still strapped around his frame.

“I heard this thing makes your punches stronger, right?”

Ryoma lowers the bottle, quirks an eyebrow. “What? Oh… this? Not exactly. It doesn’t make you stronger. But it builds spring. Explosiveness.”

“Really?” Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. “Then… can I try it?”

He stares at her like she’s grown a second head. “Try it? If you want, go buy one yourself and play around at home.”

Before the air can grow awkward, Nakahara’s bark cuts in, sharp as a whip. “Idiot! Don’t talk like that. Her father bought all this equipment, you know!”

The words land heavy. Everyone turns their heads at once. Ryoma freezes, bottle halfway down, his jaw slack.

“What…?”

Reika’s cheeks flush. She waves her hands quickly, downplaying it. “It’s nothing! Please don’t make a fuss. I just wanted to see what it feels like, that’s all.”

Nakahara’s gaze stays hard, flicking between them.

“Then teach her, kid,” he says.

“What? No way.” Ryoma fumbles with the straps of the suit, half pulling it off. “If she really wants to learn, let Hiroshi show her. I need a break.”

But Hiroshi is already halfway to the door, waving with exaggerated nonchalance. “Ah, sorry! Gotta grab something outside!” He vanishes before Ryoma can protest further.

Nakahara doesn’t linger either. He grabs his jacket, mutters something about getting lunch outside, and slips through the door without another word.

And now it’s just Ryoma and Reika, and the other gym members who are busy with their own training.

Ryoma sighs, resigned. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Reika straps herself into the resistance suit, bands tugging at her arms awkwardly. She throws a jab, but the band snaps her fist back, nearly spinning her off balance.

“Careful,” Ryoma mutters, steadying her by the shoulder. “Don’t fight against it. Drive through.”

She nods, cheeks warm, and tries again. The punch is clumsy, but at least lands straight.

“Better,” he says.

Her lips curl into a smile, faint but proud. “So I’m learning?”

Ryoma exhales, half a sigh, half a laugh. “Barely.”

She keeps going, more jabs, more stumbles.

Moments pass, and then…

“Akh…?!”

…she tips forward again, straight into his chest.

And Ryoma freezes.

For a moment, the sound of her quick breath and his steady one overlap, close, too close.

Then his Vision Grid pings.

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