VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

There’s an uneasy murmur across the hall. Everyone knows that even after Aramaki scored the knockdown, Junpei still leads comfortably on points. For three rounds, he peppered Aramaki’s face with snapping shots.

But to Logan’s eyes, the truth is obvious. He’s watched countless fights, some of the best on the world stage, and he knows exactly who holds the upper hand now.

A quiet dread creeps in as he remembers the one million he’s about to lose. His pride is too big to admit it aloud, but deep down he knows, Aramaki did something pivotal back in that fourth round.

“I had no idea he was this good,” Logan murmurs in English. “Was he actually holding back before?”

“He fought Ryoma in the Rookie Tournament,” Reika says at last. “He almost beat him. Their match was one of the most exciting ones back then.”

“What?” Logan blinks, turning toward her. “They’re from the same camp, aren’t they? How could that even happen?”

“He moved to Nakahara’s gym afterward.”

Logan frowns. “And you never thought to tell me that?”

Reika’s tone hardens slightly. “Didn’t you hear the crowd earlier? They’ve been calling him a coward for switching to the gym that beat him.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, a faint crack in his composure. He knows Japanese language, just not well enough to follow every insult buried in the noise.

A muscle twitches beneath his cheek as the realization sank in, feeling he’d been played by Ryoma.

***

When the ref calls the corners out and both fighters rise, the irony becomes clear to everyone.

Aramaki stands tall, steady, face refreshed. Junpei, meanwhile, still looks drained, struggling just to push off the stool.

His legs feel lighter than before, but only barely. He shakes out his arms, testing his rhythm, seeing if he can still summon the snap for his flicker jab.

“You good?” Junji calls from the apron.

Junpei glances over his shoulder and nods. “Yeah. Got enough rest.”

But his eyes betray him when he looks across the ring. Theoretically, he knows that one body blow Aramaki landed must have drained his stamina.

But this is the first time he received such a devastating blow to the guts. Not even Serrano with his heavy punch ever target his core. So he doesn’t know how long his legs can move.

And there’s no time to worry about it.

Ding!

The bell rings, and the fifth round begins.

Aramakis seizes the center ring first. Junpei tries to sabotage but too late. So he just throws his flickers after he only takes a few steps from the corner.

Wsht! Wsht! Wsht!

Wsht! Wsht! Wsht! Wsht!

The flickers slice the air. Aramaki’s already familiar with their rhythm. But even with that, it takes him a moment to feel it again, to let his body remember the pattern.

Left after left snaps against his guard. A couple slips through.

Dsh! Dsh!

And the sting can’t be ignored. It’s the build-up damage, after getting hit on the same area so many times.

But this time, it doesn’t take him long to adjust. Within fifteen seconds, he starts dodging, blocking, even parrying. His feet shift closer, closing the gap inch by inch.

Gradually, he works his way forward, before he gets the chance to knock the left once, and then steps inside.

And yes, Junpei’s still oblivious with the habit he just created from the drill during training. Instinct flares, and he cocks his right.

Aramaki bends his knee, ready to leap forward. Sadly, this time Junpei sees it…

“The gazelle punch?”

His breath catches, and the right hand halts mid-way. He steps out, moving to his right, away from Aramaki’s blow.

Woosh!!!

It’s sharp, yet only cuts an empty air.

Even without landing, the sound alone makes Junpei’s heart skip a bit. He recognizes the danger, but not yet the habit that almost cost him.

Aramaki, on the other hand, looks annoyed, more to himself and anything.

“Damn it… that was too soon.”

Junpei circles away, finally escaping the corner, retaking center ring. And the flickers start again.

Wsht! Wsht! Wsht!

Wsht! Wsht! Wsht! Wsht!

Aramaki is back to his struggle, working his way through these snapping lefts. And again, despite blocking quite a lot, two jabs still slip in and snap his face.

Dsh! Dsh!

His head reels sideway, winching, the cheek and temple are swell back. But he sustains it, bumping his fists, and starts bopping his head.

Then he finally gets the chance to step in, following Junpei’s left before it retreats. And again, still out of habit, Junpei cuts him with a right.

And Aramaki blocks it.

Dug!

But now, knowing that gazelle punch builds it momentum from leaping forward, Junpei isn’t slipping away.

He stands his ground, like he is ready to fight in close range.

And Aramaki doesn’t hesitate.

“Fine by me…”

He begins mixing a few hooks to the body, sharp and compact.

Dug! Dug! Dug! Dug!

Junpei blocks them, but the force alone rocks his stance side to side. His breath hitches.

Then he steps forward, wrapping Aramaki’s hands.

“A clinch?” one commentator blurts. “Junpei, the man who’s been controlling the fight from round one, is clinching?”

“Ah, folks, just when we thought we’d see a full-on exchange, Junpei shuts it down with a clinch,” adds the other.

And now the crowd, especially those who came for Ayano, begins to turn. The same voices that cheered Junpei seconds ago shift to jeers, raining disapproval down the ring.

“What’s this, Junpei? You’re just hugging him now?”

“Come on, fight! Don’t run away!”

“You were supposed to be the favorite! What’s with all that clinching?”

Aramaki sneaks in a few short punches to the body, but Junpei refuses to let go, clinging tight until the ref steps in and slaps his arm.

“That’s enough! Break!”

They separate, and the fight resumes.

But for Aramaki, it’s back to square one. He has to fight his way in again, weaving through those flicker jabs that keep snapping at him. His right eyelid is swollen now, the vision on that side narrowing with every blink.

When he finally slips inside and fires a compact combination, Junpei clamps on him again.

“Oh, come on!” someone shouts from the crowd.

“Ref! Break them already!”

Before the referee can step in, Junpei creates just enough space to slip in a few short punches to the face.

Dsh! Dsh!

They’re light, but irritating, enough to break Aramaki’s rhythm and buy Junpei room to escape.

***

And that rhythm drags on, round after round, the same flickers, the same clinching, through the fifth, the sixth, and even the seventh round.

Even in the eighth round, Junpei still dominates the fight, though it’s ugly, slow, and joyless boxing. The crowd’s excitement has long faded into restless murmurs and boos.

But the result? Aramaki’s right eyelid swells further, cutting his vision. His legs still hold, his hands still fire, but the half-blindness gnaws at him.

Still, three rounds of frustration are enough to remind him of something, something he saw in Ryoma’s fight against Noguchi.

“You want to play ugly… then let’s slug it out.”

He drops the tight guard, arms jutting forward.

The flickers aren’t as fast now, yet Junpei keeps throwing them, still relying on them.

Once Aramaki steps in, his extended arms disrupt the jabs’ trajectory. He then slips through and fires a hook downstairs.

But Junpei’s ready this time. He’s seen it too many times already, and every repeat feels like an insult to his pride as a counterpuncher.

“Yeah… let’s slug it out.”

He takes the hit, gritting his teeth, and throws a counter straight to Aramaki’s face.

BAM!!!

A perfect double exchange.

Both land clean.

But Aramaki takes the worse of it. His blood and sweat arc under the lights as he slowly drops to the canvas.

Down!