VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Meanwhile, the sizzling grows sharper, too sharp. Ryoma’s attention flicks back to the stove just in time to smell the faint edge of over-cooking. He turns off the fire with a calm motion, sliding the pan off the heat.

For a moment he doesn’t move. He just stands there, both hands braced on the counter, arms locking as if holding himself in place.

His head dips slightly, breath steadying, not tired but calculating. His focus is now elsewhere, deep inside the spinning gears of his mind.

He’s not panicked, not emotional. He’s preparing, laying out a strategy the same way he would analyze an opponent in the ring: observable weakness, predictable reaction, emotional openings.

The system’s whisper lingers like cold static at the base of his skull, but he’s not listening passively anymore.

He’s thinking.

If she leaves, the past doesn’t repeat.

If she stays, the pattern leads back to everything he already lost once.

And if he tries to simply reject her… she will push harder. She always does when she cares.

So the path is clear: don’t fight her. Guide her.

“I’m still twenty, remember?” he finally speaks.

Kaede blinks, not because the number surprises her, but because she suddenly realizes she hasn’t considered his age at all lately. Her friends stopped teasing her about it last year.

And Ryoma… he hasn’t felt like twenty in a long time.

“I know,” she says quietly. “But…”

Ryoma exhales, a short cutting breath that slices off her words.

He pulls out a chair and sits, gaze flicking toward the folded newspaper he bought earlier, the one with Shinnichi’s camp tearing into him.

He picks it up, opens to the page, and slides it toward her.

“My boxing isn’t doing as well as you think.”

Kaede hesitates, unsure, then starts reading without even touching the paper.

“They shut me out,” Ryoma says. “Made an agreement behind the scenes. All just to keep me out.”

Kaede’s posture stiffens. She lowers her gaze fully to the article, taking it seriously now, the concern on her face real and unguarded.

She does care, deeply.

“But they only want an apology,” she murmurs. “Can’t you just… do it?”

“This isn’t about an apology.” Ryoma shakes his head, eyes sharpening. “They’re afraid of me. But they won’t say that. So they hide behind ’respect’ and ’honor.’ Even if I apologize, nothing changes. They’ll still avoid me. Because they fear me.”

Kaede feels the weight behind his tone, not arrogance, not ego, but conviction.

The same conviction she’s trusted for years.

Meanwhile, Ryoma’s eyes never leave her face. He watches every flicker, every breath, mapping her reaction, guiding it.

And now it’s time to steer her.

“We’re survivors, Kaede,” he says softly, “Both of us. We’ve experienced great lost. And we supported each other through all of it.”

A brief pause.

“No… you supported me. You protected me when I was a weak kid getting beaten at school. You even abandoned your dream once, all because of my selfishness.”

“That’s not true.” Kaede’s voice cracks. “I quit the Olympics because I was still traumatized by…”

“You’re a bad liar.” He interrupts gently, with a sigh that sounds almost wounded. “You’re too kind. And I’ve taken advantage of that kindness. Now you finally have a chance at a better life. A chance I can’t give you. So please, don’t let me take that from you again.”

Her eyes begin to shine, tears gathering but refusing to fall. She already knows where this is going. She just can’t accept it.

“You know how much you mean to me,” she whispers.

“I know,” Ryoma answers calmly. “And I love you more than you think. That’s why it would break my heart if you ruined your future for me again.”

Her fingers curl into trembling fists, still resisting, still clinging.

“But… if I go, then…”

Ryoma breathes out softly, as if it hurts him to even shape the words.

“Then maybe… it’s better if we go our own way.”

He doesn’t say it harshly. He says it like he’s offering her a door she’s free to walk through whenever she chooses.

It’s like he isn’t ending anything, just helping her see the “right” answer.

“Please, Kaede.” His voice is gentle, almost pleading. “Take the promotion. Be happy. Do it… for me.”

Kaede covers her mouth with her trembling hand. And Ryoma watches her reaction with a composure that hides everything he chooses not to feel.

***

For a long moment, silence folds over them, thick and suffocating, the kind that makes the truth impossible to escape.

Kaede doesn’t argue, doesn’t insist anymore. Something inside her just folds. She gathers her bag with stiff, quiet movements and heads toward the door.

But when she reaches it, she stops, frozen in the narrow frame. As if she knows that crossing it means stepping out of his life for real this time.

She lingers there, the silence stretching thin.

Then she turns, bows deeply, hiding the trembling in her shoulders and the tears slipping down her cheek.

Without a word, she opens the door and walks out. The latch clicks, but Ryoma barely reacts. Not because he doesn’t care. He knows exactly how much of his heart she holds.

But the space inside him feels numb, emptied out by the decision he already carved into himself.

Yet, again, the system slips in, smug and soft.

>

“Shut up,” Ryoma mutters.

>

Ryoma doesn’t reply this time.

His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking once, and he turns back to the stove.

He moves like on autopilot, silent and steady, returning to the simple duty of finishing dinner for himself and his mother. A task that keeps his hands busy while the rest of him stays cold and hollow.

***

By dust, Ryoma finishes plating the food into two lunchboxes, his movements smooth, unhurried, almost too clean.

Snaps the lids shut, he then grabs his keys, and steps out of his apartment humming under his breath, a soft, casual tune, as if nothing in his world has shifted.

He walks down the hallway, and a few doors down, he spots Mr. Okubo halfway through packing his things into cardboard boxes.

Ryoma brightens immediately. “Oh, Mr. Okubo! What’s the hassle?”

Okubo looks up, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, Ryoma-kun. I’m moving out. The company’s giving me a house. Surprised me too.”

“Whoa, congrats!” Ryoma whistles. “Then what about this place?”

Okubo glances back into the half-empty apartment, and for a moment his face softens with something like nostalgia.

“Yeah… bit of a shame. I just renewed the rent three months ago. Five-year contract.”

He sighs, long and heavy.

“Can’t exactly cancel on the landlord either. But hey, new house near Tachikawa. Can’t complain too much.”

Ryoma’s eyes sharpen, not warmly, but with quick calculation dressed as friendliness.

“Hmm… actually, that’s perfect.” He leans in slightly, palm tapping his chin. “You know Aramaki, right?”

Okubo brightens immediately. “Oh! Aramaki from your gym? That tough kid who lives out in that tiny hut? With the little daughter? Yeah, yeah, I know him.”

Ryoma snaps his fingers lightly. “That’s the one. Life’s been rough for him. No electricity, unstable place, the kid always getting sick… If he could take over this apartment, it would save him.”

Okubo’s face softens even further. “Well hell, if it’s Aramaki… I don’t mind at all. Tell him to come by. I’ll talk to Hiroto-san about the paperwork. Would be good to leave this place to someone who actually needs it.”

Ryoma bows deeply. “Thank you, Mr. Okubo. Really.”

Then he straightens, humming again as he walks off, lighter on his feet, even cheerful, as though Kaede had never stood crying at his door less than an hour ago.

When he reaches the barbershop, his mother looks up from her chair, comb in hand.

“Dinner’s ready,” he greets.

Fumiko blinks. “Um… where’s Kaede-chan?”

Ryoma’s smile is effortless. “She’s going home. Something came up.”

He says it gently, easily, as if nothing is wrong at all.