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VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Chapter 234: Cold Blood, Clear Timing · Nov 03, 2026

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Chapter List (1045)

Page number / 21

201 Chapter 201: New Blood, Old Habits 2026-11-03
202 Chapter 202: Welcome to Narisawa Boxing Gym 2026-11-03
203 Chapter 203: Declining the Champion 2026-11-03
204 Chapter 204: Caught in the Beat 2026-11-03
205 Chapter 205: A Worthy Distance 2026-11-03
206 Chapter 206: Reading Deeper 2026-11-03
207 Chapter 207: Running A Test 2026-11-03
208 Chapter 208: Time to Steal It 2026-11-03
209 Chapter 209: Rhapsody in Gloves 2026-11-03
210 Chapter 210: New Drills 2026-11-03
211 Chapter 211: Chameleon’s Memory 2026-11-03
212 Chapter 212: Paths Diverging 2026-11-03
213 Chapter 213: Riding the Tide 2026-11-03
214 Chapter 214: Traded Identity 2026-11-03
215 Chapter 215: The Temptation 2026-11-03
216 Chapter 216: One Fight Away 2026-11-03
217 Chapter 217: The Machine That Feeds on Hype 2026-11-03
218 Chapter 218: For the Sake of Hype 2026-11-03
219 Chapter 219: No Wasted Motion 2026-11-03
220 Chapter 220: Mutual Growth 2026-11-03
221 Chapter 221: What the Ring Teaches 2026-11-03
222 Chapter 222: The Mirror in the Ring 2026-11-03
223 Chapter 223: When the Mind Slips 2026-11-03
224 Chapter 224: Inheritance of Spite 2026-11-03
225 Chapter 225: Between Courtesy and Cruelty 2026-11-03
226 Chapter 226: Smoke and Spotlights 2026-11-03
227 Chapter 227: The Missing Crowd 2026-11-03
228 Chapter 228: The Cruel King’s Army 2026-11-03
229 Chapter 229: When the Joker Turns Ugly 2026-11-03
230 Chapter 230: Welcome to the World of Men 2026-11-03
231 Chapter 231: A Corner Without Mercy 2026-11-03
232 Chapter 232: This Is My Fight 2026-11-03
233 Chapter 233: Momentum 2026-11-03
234 Chapter 234: Cold Blood, Clear Timing 2026-11-03
235 Chapter 235: The Coronation of the Cruel King 2026-11-03
236 Chapter 236: I Touched You 2026-11-03
237 Chapter 237: Timing the Phantom 2026-11-03
238 Chapter 238: When Flickers Become Guns 2026-11-03
239 Chapter 239: Half A Beat Ahead 2026-11-03
240 Chapter 240: Three Tricks Deep 2026-11-03
241 Chapter 241: The Break Between Blows 2026-11-03
242 Chapter 242: Beyond the Plan 2026-11-03
243 Chapter 243: The Illusion of Control 2026-11-03
244 Chapter 244: The Crown in the Corner 2026-11-03
245 Chapter 245: Hope in the Edge of Despair 2026-11-03
246 Chapter 246: A Lullaby in Round Six 2026-11-03
247 Chapter 247: The Moment He Questions Everything 2026-11-03
248 Chapter 248: The Cruel King’s True Face 2026-11-03
249 Chapter 249: The Fighter Who Wouldn’t Break 2026-11-03
250 Chapter 250: The Tenth-round Inferno 2026-11-03

Both commentators catch it instantly, their laughter slicing through the roar of the crowd.

“Well, look at that… the kid who froze under stage fright finally found his tongue!”

“Yeah, and he’s using it to taunt a veteran. Bold move… or suicidal.”

Ryohei freezes. The words dig deep, stoking something dark under his ribs. The crowd’s laughter swells, mixing with the pulse hammering in his ears.

He can’t tell if it’s rage or adrenaline, only that it burns hot and bright.

“You can’t just ignore that kind of jab!” one commentator goads.

“What’s Ryohei gonna do now?” the other adds, voice sharp with anticipation.

Ryohei’s lips twitch, anger flaring.

But then, a crazy thought flickers through his mind, dangerous, reckless, but perfect.

Still, he lets the mask of anger take over.

“You son of a bitch!”

He lunges forward, right hand cocked, wild and unrestrained.

Kobo grins. “Amateur.”

A jab flicks out first.

Ryohei sees it coming. But he grits his teeth, and takes it clean.

Dsh!

Then comes the cross.

But this is exactly what Ryohei wanted.

His face goes still, eyes icy cold, almost dead. He steps in, stopping the punch mid-extension with his left glove.

Thud!

And the next heartbeat…

BAM!!!

His right explodes against Kobo’s face, hard, brutal, sickening. The sound is dull, meaty, and final.

Kobo’s head knocked back, sweat, blood, and spit bursting into the air like shrapnel.

For an instant, the whole arena goes silent.

Kobo’s corner looks stricken, white faces, mouths hanging open.

Then chaos erupts. The crowd cheers and claps, acknowledging Ryohei’s determination and courage to deliver that last counter.

Kenta clutches his head, pacing in disbelief, while Hiroshi nearly climbs the ropes, shouting, half-laughing, half-screaming.

“He did it! He actually pulled it off!”

The commentators lose it too, their voices overlapping in stunned euphoria.

“Oh my god, what was that?! That’s insane!”

“He baited him! He took the hit and turned it into a counter! I’ve never seen anything like that in this weight class!”

“This is unbelievable… nobody expected a knockout like that from Ryohei!”

The referee’s voice finally cuts through the noise.

“Neutral corner! Go to the neutral corner!”

Ryohei obeys, legs wobbling beneath him. His arms feel like they’re carved from stone, his gloves heavier than his body.

Each step toward the neutral corner feels longer than the whole fight. His chest heaves, his breath scraping dry through his throat.

He reaches the corner, turns, and folds his hands against the top rope, praying silently.

Don’t get up… please, don’t get up.

He can still feel it, the solid crack against his knuckles, the perfect angle, the precise timing. Every inch of it tells him Kobo shouldn’t be standing again.

But the count keeps going.

“Five…”

“Six…”

The sound stretches, warping in his ears. His vision blurs at the edges.

“Seven…”

Then, impossibly, Kobo stirs.

His body twitches. He plants one glove on the canvas.

“Eight…”

He’s up. Barely.

The referee steps close, searching his eyes, asking something Ryohei can’t hear. Kobo’s face is a ruin of red and sweat now, his legs shaking, but his gaze is dazed and empty.

Ryohei just stands there, arms heavy, head bowed, a hollow ache spreading through his chest. The adrenaline drains out, leaving him numb, spent, and almost weightless.

He thinks it’s over already. Win or lose, he’s just got nothing left to give.

But then the referee waves his arms.

It’s done.

Kobo can’t lift his gloves. His corner stays frozen.

The crowd detonates again, this time chanting Ryohei’s name in unison, loud, raw, and relentless.

Kenta and Hiroshi vault into the ring, grabbing him, laughing and yelling, shaking him like they can’t believe he’s real.

And above it all, the commentators shout over the roar.

“Ryohei lands the counter of the night!”

“What a finish! This fight just redefined heart and timing!”

The bell rings, but nobody hears it.

Only the chant fills in the hall. This time, finally acknowledge him. Even the Cruel King’s Army, who supported Ryohei on Ryoma’s request, finally gives him their support, a genuine one this time.

“Ryohei! Ryohei! Ryohei!”

***

Back in the blue corner’s locker room, the air feels still and heavy. The fight blares from the wall-mounted TV, the crowd’s thunder echoing faintly through the corridor.

Ryoma and Nakahara watch in silence. Neither of them cheers when Ryohei’s hand is raised.

It isn’t that they aren’t proud. They both are. But the broadcast had carried something more than the fight.

They’d heard Ryohei’s voice during the corner break, when the cameras were too close, the mics too sharp.

“You think I don’t know I’m not Ryoma? You think I’m proud of that? You think I enjoy being the guy he crushes every damn spar? You think I like hearing them keep bringing his name into my fight?”

Now that line loops endlessly in Ryoma’s head, playing over the noise of the victory chants.

On the screen, Ryohei is being helped down the aisle by Kenta and Hiroshi, his arms slung over their shoulders, every step unsteady but defiant.

The crowd still roars his name. Flashing cameras follow his slow march, a hero’s sendoff.

Ryoma’s expression doesn’t move. His jaw stays set, his eyes unreadable. Nakahara glances at him but acts like he doesn’t know what Ryoma thinks.

“He did it,” Nakahara murmurs finally, voice low. “He finally pulled a counter, something the old Ryohei would never do.”

Ryoma nods once. “Yeah.”

A long silence stretches between them. Beyond the closed door, the roar of the crowd seeps in, faint and uneven, like a heartbeat fading through layers of concrete and distance.

Ryoma exhales through his nose, gaze fixed on the screen where Ryohei disappears into the tunnel.

Then he turns toward the door and waits for them to arrive.

But he doesn’t know what he’ll say when Ryohei walks back through that door,

whether to congratulate him, tease him, or just stand there in silence.

Because somehow, after that confession, a victory feels heavier than a loss.

***

Moments later, the door finally swings open, and laughter spills in.

Kenta and Hiroshi stumble in first, cracking jokes about Ryohei’s insane gamble, still buzzing from the adrenaline.

“I swear, man,” Kenta laughs, clapping Ryohei on the shoulder, “you looked like you’d given up, and then bam! You turned him into a statue!”

“Yeah,” Hiroshi adds, grinning wide, “that counter’s going viral before the night ends.”

Nakahara welcomes him, his face split between pride and disbelief. “You’ve got some nerve, Son. That was one hell of a risk to take. I’ve seen fighters freeze at less.”

Ryohei lifts his head, the exhaustion etched deep on his face, and manages a small shrug.

“Honestly… I thought it was over,” he admits quietly. “Couldn’t bait that brat into swinging wild. I was ready to just hold the lead. But then he taunted me, and I saw it. Guess I got lucky.”

There’s a pause.

And then Ryoma finally speaks. His voice is calm, even, but there’s a gravity in it.

“No,” he says. “That wasn’t luck. That was a calculated counter. You read him, adjusted, and executed it mid-fight. That’s not luck. That’s awareness.”

Ryohei looks at him, eyes flickering with something unreadable. He doesn’t reply, just looks away, breathing slow.

Ryoma takes the silence for rejection, and the others sense it too. The air in the room stiffens, the laughter fading into something awkward and thin.

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