VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

APA Hotel TKP Nippori-ekimae.

Elliot Graves wakes up earlier than he means to. It’s already two days since his arrival in Tokyo, but the jet lag still hasn’t fully faded.

His body clock is somewhere between Manchester and Shibuya, and the sunlight slipping through the curtain feels heavier than it should.

The digital clock beside him reads 6:12 a.m. He exhales, resigned, no point in forcing sleep that won’t come.

An hour later, he’s already at Narisawa Boxing Gym, a name that carries real weight in Tokyo’s boxing circuit. It’s the kind of gym that smells greatness, and history.

A reputable gym, the kind that foreign fighters rent when they need a serious place before fight week.

This is where Japan’s current Super Lightweight Champion trains, a 25-year-old who took the national belt only three months ago.

They also have a Lightweight ranked 6th and another ranked 3rd in Super Featherweight, both rising names with real records behind them.

And somewhere overseas, a Featherweight veteran still flying their banner on the WBA top ten list.

Sergei isn’t here today. He’s scheduled to have meeting with sponsors and promoters. Before leaving, he made it clear to Elliot: no sparring, just sweat, let the body breathe.

So Elliot keeps it light.

A few rounds of jump rope. Slow shadowboxing. A handful of rounds on the heavy bag, not to punish it, just to wake up his muscles again.

As sweat starts to roll down his temples, he can almost forget he’s still a little foggy inside.

But then…

Someone calls out, a voice from inside the ring, firm and bright.

“Hey! You ready? Wanna have a light spar?”

It’s Sugano Junichiro, 23 YO, currently ranked 6th in Japan Lightweight. His gloves are already on, headgear hanging loose around his neck.

Elliot doesn’t understand all the words, but the tone is clear. It’s a challenge.

Satoshi, his Japanese liaison, steps in from the side. “He’s asking if you’re ready for a light spar,” he translates quickly, then adds, “But Sergei said no sparring today. You’re still adjusting. Just light work, okay?

“

Elliot nods once. “Got it.”

He sits by the bench and starts unwrapping his hand tape.

But Junichiro isn’t done. He leans against the ropes, still talking, tone teasing, a grin playing on his face. But of course, Elliot can’t follow any of his words.

Satoshi sighs. “He says… just light spar. Nothing to be afraid of. Or maybe… you’re scared he’ll hurt you.”

Elliot pauses. His eyes lift, clearly looks unpleasant.

“Ignore him,” Satoshi adds. “He’s trying to show off. Sergei will be angry if…”

Then, Junichiro mutters something in broken English mixed in his Japanese words.

“…coward!”

Elliot’s expression changes, still calm at first, but then looks sharper.

Then he starts wrapping his right hand again.

Satoshi catches the movement. “Elliot, wait… Sergei said no sparring today.”

Elliot slips the glove back on, smiling faintly.

“Come on! He said only a light spar. Let’s see what this Japanese can do.”

***

The gym air shifts the moment Elliot steps toward the ring.

Low murmurs ripple across the floor, gloves stop mid-hit, jump ropes still, and the heavy bag thuds fade into silence.

One of the assistants, half-grinning, already jogs to the corner to grab the bell and timer, sensing what’s about to unfold.

The sound carries through the short hallway and into the small office upstairs. Inside, Takanobu Narisawa

, the head coach and gym’s manager, looks up from his paperwork. He hears the sudden energy, the kind that never comes from regular training.

Narisawa steps out, sliding open his office door just as one of the boxers passes by with a towel slung over his neck.

“Tsutomu! What’s going on?” he asks.

The boy shrugs, a little unsure. “Junichiro said something to the foreigner. The British guy. I think they’re about to spar.”

For a beat, Narisawa doesn’t reply. Then a slow knowing smile forms in his face.

“Junichiro, huh?” he murmurs. “Let’s see how he handles himself.”

He leaves the office, descending the stairs, but doesn’t step too close to the ring. Instead, he stops by the edge of the crowd, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, blending in with the gym members who are now pretending to stretch just to get a better view.

***

Inside the ring, Junichiro bounces lightly on his toes. He’s known to be sharp, fast, but now cocky enough to think he can test the visiting world contender.

Elliot stands opposite him, posture relaxed, shoulders loose, mouthguard already in place.

Satoshi, the interpreter, shakes his head quietly from ringside. “If he gets hurt, don’t make it my problem.”

Elliot doesn’t even look at him. “It’s okay. I’ll make it light.”

The bell rings.

DING!

Junichiro bursts forward first, light jabs popping through the air, fast and flashy.

Elliot blocks most with his shoulder, barely moving. His eyes stay locked on Junichiro’s chest, calm, studying, almost lazy.

The Japanese fighter circles, throws a few more, testing range. Elliot takes a step inside, short and clean, and the rhythm changes.

He softly bounces back and forth, almost like a pendulum.

And…

One light jab.

Then another.

Then a right hand so quick it barely looks thrown.

Junichiro’s headgear jerks sideways, his balance stumbles for a half-second. Gasps ripple through the gym.

Elliot doesn’t press. He just shifts, rolling his shoulders loose again, as if he’s warming up, not fighting.

Junichiro grits his teeth, tries to reassert his pace, firing a combination, jab, cross, and left hook.

Elliot slips each one, slides back, and then hops forward again, answering with a quiet body shot that lands deep.

THUD.

Junichiro’s breath catches.

Elliot could follow up, could end it easily, but he steps back instead, gloves up.

“You good?” he says softly.

The younger boxer nods, trying to mask the ache tightening in his ribs.

They circle again. A few light exchanges follow, mostly Junichiro throwing and Elliot parrying, until the bell sounds.

DING!

Elliot examines him, looks a bit disappointed. But he understands the level gap, and doesn’t want to humiliate Junichiro in front of his gym mates.

So he lowers his gloves, smiling faintly. “That’s enough for me,” he says. “Sorry, but… still feel a bit of jet lag.”

Satoshi translates. Junichiro straightens, trying to look composed, though his chest rises too fast.

“Sure,” he replies in Japanese. “Good spar.”

The crowd claps lightly as they touch gloves. On the surface, it’s respectful, almost even.

But the truth lingers in the small things, the way Junichiro’s knees shake slightly as he steps down from the ring, or the light casual smile behind Elliot’s calm face.

Elliot quietly takes a seat on the bench again, unwrapping his tape for the second time.

As Junichiro walks past his gymmates, he chuckles lightly, still holding his composure. “He’s good. Real world-class, huh? But jet lag is messing him up. Can’t blame him.”

A few of the younger boxers laugh, impressed but reassured.

But as soon as Junichiro steps into the locker room, the door shuts, and his breath escapes in a painful rush.

He bends forward, one hand gripping the edge of the bench, the other clutching his side. His face twists as he suppresses a groan.

“Shit…” he mutters under his breath, the English word rough but clear. “That’s… the man Renji going to fight.”

That one body shot, the one that didn’t even look like much, is already turning purple.

When someone enters, Junichiro forces a smile and exhales with quiet satisfaction.

“Good spar,” he says, softer this time, mostly to him.

But this man is Hamakawa Shoji, the current Japanese Super Lightweight Champion, not someone Junichiro can fool.

“Good spar, my ass,” Shoji scoffs. “He went easy on you.”

Junichiro’s smile fades. “Then you taste it tomorrow. Let’s see how easy it feels when it’s your turn in there.”

Shoji snorts, full of swagger. “Sure. I’ll taste it myself, make that gaijin show his real power.”