VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The world doesn’t slow down just because someone stumbles. Even if you regret a mistake the moment it leaves your mouth, the days keep moving, the gears keep turning, and opportunities shift before you can grab them back.

In boxing, and in life, things can change before you even finish catching your breath. And this time, they change fast.

The fax Marlon sent from Manila travels quickly, crossing borders in minutes. By the time late morning edges toward noon in Tokyo, Nakahara Boxing Gym’s old fax machine sputters to life.

Nakahara is the first to reach it.

He reads the stamped letterhead, the signature, the word ACCEPTED, and his expression lights up, subtle but unmistakable.

“That’s fast…”

For a moment, he almost rushes out the door like a man decades younger, but he stops himself just before crossing the threshold.

The gym is livelier than yesterday.

Aki is here today too, sitting beside Okabe and Ryohei on the bench, her recorder held out as she interviews them about their upcoming Class-A tournament bouts.

Both men try to look serious, but Okabe keeps breaking character, and Ryohei keeps wiping nonexistent sweat from his brow.

A bit away from them, Ryoma is failing to find his rhythm. His pendulum step keeps collapsing on itself, the timing off by half-beats. Sera stands in front of him, arms crossed, watching with growing irritation.

“You can’t just feel the beat,” Sera snaps. “You have to control it. Five hundred milliseconds. Keep it steady. I know you should be able to break the rhythm mid fight. But right now, you have to hold the base rhythm.”

Ryoma tries again, but messes up again. Sera exhales through his nose, disappointed. But before he can say more, Nakahara raises his voice.

“Sera. Come here for a second.”

Sera gives Ryoma one last look, half warning half frustration, and then jerks his chin.

“Break. Don’t touch anything until I’m back.”

Ryoma wipes his forehead from sweat, but doesn’t argue.

Sera steps into the office, lets the door wide open, finding Nakahara holding the fax between two fingers.

“We got an answer,” Nakahara says. “From the Philippines. They’ve accepted.”

Sera blinks. “Already? Coach, we sent that barely an hour ago.”

“I know.” Nakahara taps the page. “No counter-offer. No renegotiation.”

Sera lets out a short humorless laugh. “So they don’t see us as a threat at all. Can’t really blame them… From their point of view, Ryoma’s just a seven-fight rookie, not someone to worry about.”

“Maybe.” Nakahara’s eyes narrow. “Or maybe they’re just very confident in their champion.”

He steps aside and gestures toward the chair behind his desk, clearing space for Sera to sit.

“Draft the official request for the OPBF. We’ll file it today.”

Sera nods once. “I’ll start writing it now.”

Through the narrow gap of the door behind them, Ryoma stands alone on the mat, breathing hard, motionless, caught on the edge of something he doesn’t yet understand.

***

Meanwhile, Ryoma watches them from afar. He hasn’t moved, but the Vision Grid flickers across his sight, mapping lip shapes, angles, micro-movements. He can read every word they’re saying.

Finally he steps closer, silent as a shadow, until he stands right at the doorway.

“So you’ve found an opponent for me.”

Both men jolt slightly. Sera stiffens first, and Nakahara freezes mid-gesture.

“Not yet,” Nakahara says curtly, without meeting his eyes.

Ryoma’s expression doesn’t change. “You can’t fool me. Maybe I should’ve told you this earlier.” He taps the corner of his eye. “I can read your words from your lip movements alone.”

They both stare at him, stunned. This is the first time they learn this about him. And there’s no way they can just accept it that easily.

Ryoma’s gaze sharpens. “Was it someone from the Philippines? Who is it?”

The tone alone tells them he isn’t bluffing.

Sera stares at him. “Wait, hold on. You really can read what we’re saying just from our lips?”

Nakahara’s brows draw together. “Since when?”

Ryoma doesn’t even hesitate. “A long time,” he says, eyes narrowing with quiet certainty. “I just never told anyone until now.”

Nakahara exhales, realizing there’s no point hiding it now. “Your next opponent… the Philippine champion, Paulo Ramos. Currently ranked fourth in the OPBF. We just received their acceptance. Sera is drafting the request for the commission now.”

Ryoma absorbs the name, the rank, and the implications. His shoulders rise and fall in one slow breath. For the first time in a week, the doubt that had been clouding him seems to lift.

“Ranked fourth, huh?” he murmurs. “Sounds good.”

Before anyone can say more, the desk phone rings sharply. And Sera picks it up.

“Hello…”

He listens, and after a few moments, his expression shifts. He cups the receiver, leans toward Nakahara

“It’s them,” he whispers. “They’re asking to renegotiate.”

Nakahara’s eyes narrow, tension gathering in the lines of his face. He already knows what this means.

He leans in, answering in a low voice, “Tell them I’m out. We’ll call back later.”

Sera nods and does exactly that, switching smoothly into English before ending the call. And there, a heavy quiet settles over the room.

“Why now?” Nakahara breaks first. “Why change their mind after accepting so fast?”

“Because,” Sera continues, thinking aloud, “at first they probably didn’t take us seriously. Seven fights, a Japanese rookie, must’ve looked like easy money. So they accepted without thinking.”

Nakahara nods grimly. “And now, after looking him up properly… they’ve realized the risk. If their champion loses, he drops from OPBF No. 4. So they want a larger purse to compensate for that danger.”

Sera crosses his arms. “They are really not showing any respect at all, just because we are a small management. So… do we increase the offer?”

Nakahara glances at Ryoma, reading the urgency in his eyes. Knowing that this fight is the turning point for his career, the old man nods slowly.

“One or two million more should do it.”

Ryoma stiffens. “One or two million… just the addition? Old man… how much did you offer in the first place?”

“Five million yen,” Sera answers.

Ryoma practically chokes. “Five…? That’s insane. And you’re still willing to renegotiate?”

“That’s the normal fee to challenge someone in the OPBF top five,” Nakahara says simply.

And that’s when Ryoma feels it, the weight of how seriously they are backing him. Not just with their time or belief, but with real sacrifice. Real money.

He looks down, breath steadying, and when he raises his eyes again, the psychological sharpness behind them has returned.

“No,” Ryoma says quietly. “Don’t give them more.”

Both men turn to him, blinking.

“They already accepted,” he continues. “That answer shouldn’t be withdrawn. Use their status against them. They’re a known champion in the Pacific. If needed, tell them we’ve already informed the media.”

His gaze shifts toward the gym outside. “Aki’s here. We can ask her to help. Make it look like the fight is already public knowledge. That’ll pressure them. Make renegotiation impossible.”

Sera and Nakahara exchange a look, cautious, but agreeing.

“We’re small,” Sera says, “but it’s about time people start respecting us. We need to push back when it matters.”

He taps the desk lightly, already thinking ahead. “I can also tell them we’ve submitted the request to the OPBF.”