VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

A week passes quietly.

Aramaki and his family have already moved into their new apartment, and Ryoma is back in the gym as if everything is normal. But no matter how he goes through the motions, his mind hasn’t fully returned.

Now he is working through the pendulum-step drill, feet shifting across the canvas, but his timing is off, half a beat slow, half a beat heavy.

Sera watches from the corner with his arms crossed. “Less than two weeks off and you forget your rhythm already?”

Ryoma answers with a simple, “Sorry,” without looking at him and keeps drilling.

And Sera straightens, because Ryoma never apologizes like that, flat, distracted, without arguing or even pretending to defend himself.

The thing is, Ryoma’s thoughts keep drifting toward Frank’s offer, looping back into the same tangle every time he tries to focus.

He’s still waiting for the man to call, still waiting for an answer to the condition he set. And the waiting digs under his skin, ruining the rhythm of every step.

And inside his skull, the system won’t stop buzzing.

>

Ryoma’s jaw tightens as he pivots, the step faltering again.

>

His footing slips half a second late.

And Sera lets out a slow breath. “Ryoma. Seriously. What’s going on with you?”

But Ryoma doesn’t stop. He just steps again, as if movement alone can drown out the voice in his head, and the offer that won’t leave him.

A few moments later, Sera steps closer, irritation finally surfacing.

“Ryoma, you’re dragging your feet. Reset. Again.”

Ryoma nods, drops into the stance, and forces his body to move, trying to chase the rhythm that keeps slipping through his legs.

Sera circles him like a metronome made of judgment, still looking far from satisfied.

“You’re late on every second beat. Are you even here right now?”

Ryoma exhales through his nose, but the system immediately pipes up again.

>

His brows twitch, irritation bubbling up. His heel lands half an inch off-line; his hips follow too late.

Finally, Sera stops the drill with a sharp clap.

“That’s enough.”

Ryoma straightens, not meeting his eyes.

“Take a break,” Sera says, voice low, disappointed in a way that hits deeper.

He turns and walks off without waiting for a response, heading toward Nakahara’s office with long, purposeful strides.

Ryoma stays rooted where he is, breathing unevenly, and sweat cooling on his skin. Only when he hears the office door slide open does he finally glance over.

Meanwhile, Aramaki has noticed the way Ryoma’s rhythm is off. And now he realizes that his eyes somewhere else entirely.

He wipes his hands on a towel and walks over, brow creased.

“Oi, Ryoma,” he says quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Ryoma doesn’t respond, but the way he looks away is answer enough.

Aramaki checks their surroundings before asking quietly, “Still no call from Frank Donovan?”

Ryoma waves him off without looking up. “I never seriously thought about it anyway. If he doesn’t call back, then so be it.”

Aramaki frowns deeper. “What are you talking about? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Why don’t you just call him instead? He left his number, right?”

Ryoma inhales slowly, the kind of breath that comes before saying something he’s been holding too long.

“Look… the condition I gave him wasn’t just ego. It was the only thing protecting me from being chewed up.”

Aramaki blinks, taken aback by the seriousness in his tone.

Ryoma keeps going, voice low. “Those guys looked like sharks to me. The moment they hesitated over that clause, it just proved it… they only see me as a cash cow.”

Aramaki’s face wrinkles. “A cash cow?”

“And if I ever fail,” Ryoma adds, eyes drifting toward the floor, “or get injured, or lose once… I’m pretty sure they’ll toss me like a junk.”

Aramaki stays quiet, his jaw tightening not at Ryoma, but at the picture Ryoma paints.

He’s seen how Kirizume runs things, how ugly the business side of boxing can get. And now he can’t help thinking Ryoma might be right: the bigger their reputation, the more dangerous they become.

At the very least, both of them trust Nakahara, not really for his ability and influence, but for his sincerity. The old man always puts a fighter’s safety above everything, even above the gym’s survival.

***

Meanwhile, inside the managerial office, Sera is having a serious talk with the old man himself. And there’s also Aki there. She’s been here since morning.

Nakahara himself hasn’t been sitting quietly through all of Ryoma’s situation. He knows Logan Rhodes has already moved on Ryoma, and he knows the local boxing scene has begun treating the boy like a problem no one wants to touch.

So he’s set his own plan in motion, maybe his last, aimed squarely at the OPBF. And that’s why Aki is in his office today, notebook open, reporting the pieces of information she’s managed to scrape together over the past week.

“…So here’s the situation,” Aki says, halfway through her rundown. “Out of the top ten OPBF contenders, two just fought recently, so they’re out. Four already have bouts scheduled in the next three months. And one of them is locked in to challenge the OPBF champion next.”

She flips to another page.

“That leaves three possible targets: rank nine, rank eight… and rank four. Those are the only ones without commitments.”

She pauses, tapping her pen.

“And from what my colleagues told me, bringing in anyone from the top ten will cost around two to three million yen. But anyone from the top five? More like five to eight million.”

Nakahara digests the information in silence. His eyes flick briefly toward Sera, as if weighing something, but he looks away just as quickly and reaches for a single sheet on his desk.

The dossier of the No. 4 contender, Paulo “Hurricane” Ramos, Philippine Lightweight Champion.

Nakahara scans the page, murmuring under his breath, “We cleared six million yen from the Ota event… Might as well use the damn money to bring this guy.”

Aki nods, picking up the thread immediately. “Ramos’s camp is known to be easy to tempt. As long as you meet their price, they don’t care who he fights. Even if it’s a rookie who turned pro yesterday.”

Sera cuts in, unable to hold back. “Ramos might be the worst matchup for Ryoma out of the entire list. The kid’s still twenty-three. Swarm fighter, full of energy. Fast hands, fast feet, and he doesn’t slow down, not even in the tenth round. Some people even wonder if he’s juiced.”

He shrugs. “Nothing’s ever been proven, but still…”

Nakahara doesn’t flinch. “If we’re serious about chasing the world, then we prepare for tough opponents. Not convenient ones.”

Sera exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get that. But ever since Ryoma came back… his performance’s slipping. He’s off rhythm, off focus. Something’s wrong with that kid.”

Nakahara goes quiet, weighing his words. Then he finally waves it off, gently, but with intent.

“It’s reasonable, considering everything that’s happened. But once we put this guy in front of him…”

Nakahara produces a faint, knowing smile.

“He’ll shed that skin right away.”