VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Nakahara steps into the ring first, taking his place near the center as he waits with the calm but unmistakable tension of someone preparing for trouble.

Kenta enters a moment later, climbing through the ropes with deliberate care. He approaches Nakahara without being prompted, bowing his head slightly so the coach can check the straps on his headgear.

“Go easy on him,” Nakahara says. “Don’t forget, you are two class apart, and you are no longer exhausted by your morning labor at the shop.”

Kenta laughs at it. “You really think that will make any different?”

“Why don’t you show me,” Nakahara raises an eyebrow. “Or else, your decision to leave home will be meaningless.”

Nakahara adjusts the fit with practiced hands, tugging the chin piece, making sure everything is secure. He gives Kenta a brief nod of approval, though he cannot ignore the tension in his posture; shoulders set, breath too controlled, and eyes sharper than usual.

Then the ropes shift again. Ryoma joins them in the ring, moving with an ease that contrasts sharply with the charged atmosphere.

He steps onto the canvas as if this is simply routine. For a moment Nakahara almost doesn’t register what is wrong, until he sees Ryoma’s bare head and the absence of any protective gear.

“You forget the headgear?” the old man asks, his voice tightens.

Ryoma looks at him as if the question itself is unnecessary. “No need.”

Nakahara shoots a glare. “Kid, you have a fight in less than three months. Put on the gear and…”

“Relax, Coach,” Ryoma cuts in, his tone annoyingly casual. “He’s not going to hit my head. And even if he does, I doubt he’ll put any power behind it.”

Kenta turns toward him, and his voice comes out heavier than usual. “I’m not holding anything back this time.”

Ryoma’s eyes brighten, not warmly, but with a kind of quiet delight that makes Nakahara’s stomach tighten.

“Is that so?” he smirks. “Then show me. I want to see if you really have the heart to hurt me.”

Nakahara snaps at him immediately, pointing to the corner.

“Kid. Headgear. Now. Or there’s no spar.”

Ryoma doesn’t flinch. “This is why he’s soft. You keep wrapping him in caution, and I’m trying to do you a favor. Unless he’s willing to hurt and be hurt, he’ll never beat Liam Kuroda. I can guarantee that much.”

For a long moment Nakahara only stares at him, struggling between anger and the cold understanding that Ryoma may not be entirely wrong.

And Kenta doesn’t oppose the idea either. “Coach, take off my headgear,” he asks.

Eventually, with a low breath, Nakahara gives in. “Fine. But if this gets out of hand, I’m stopping it immediately.”

He unfastens Kenta’s headgear, and drops it outside the ropes.

Kenta’s expression changes; this time he truly looks like someone stepping into a serious fight, and Ryoma’s faint smile shows he approves.

“Keep something in mind,” Ryoma says. “You’ve only ever sparred me in the twelfth round of my sessions, when I was dead tired. But now you’re getting me fresh. You’d better be ready.”

***

Nakahara raises his hand toward Hiroshi.

“Three rounds. Three minutes each. Start it.”

Hiroshi clicks the stopwatch and hits the bell in the same motion.

Ding!

The spar begins.

Kenta, even with something to prove, opens the round the way he always does; steady, disciplined, feeling out the space between them.

He tests his balance, the responsiveness of his legs, the sharpness of his eyes, and how Ryoma might react to him today. It’s the familiar beginning of a controlled, thoughtful exchange.

But Ryoma has no interest in controlled or thoughtful tonight. He moves as if the fight has already reached its decisive moment.

His feet accelerate instantly, carrying him in with a sharp flurry…

Dug, dug, bugh, dug!

…and then out again with the same fluid speed, slipping just beyond Kenta’s reach without ever breaking the rhythm of his steps.

He circles lightly, almost amused. “So this is you not holding back? Or is this really all you’ve got?”

He slides in again, this time using the pendulum step, alluring sharp, elastic, distinctly Soviet, with a few slapping lefts to disguise his angle of entry.

Kenta braces in the center, trying to disrupt the rhythm. He snaps out a series of jabs timed to catch Ryoma during the backward swing of his movement.

With his longer reach, he touches him easily, and breaks Ryoma’s dance.

Dug, dug!

The first two are blocked, but the third sails past as Ryoma ducks and rolls away, using his momentum to widen the distance.

But Kenta pushes forward, cutting him off with a longer stride, mixing short hooks into the pursuit.

Ryoma plants his feet for the first time in the round. He blocks twice, shoulders the third punch aside, and counters immediately with a crisp 1-1-2-3.

Dug, dug, dug… thud!

Kenta catches the first three on his guard, but the left hook buries itself neatly into his ribs. He tries to return fire, twisting into a hook of his own, but Ryoma has already slipped out of range with that irritating smoothness of his.

“What now?” Ryoma calls over his shoulder. “Can’t keep up with my pace? Maybe I should stop dancing and just slug it out with you.”

Kenta answers with silence. He bumps his gloves together once, steadying his breath, forcing down the irritation tightening his jaw.

Then he stalks forward again, disciplined and direct, as if Ryoma’s taunts bounce harmlessly off him.

“That’s it,” Nakahara calls out. “Don’t let him get under your skin. Let him talk and tired himself out.”

And that’s exactly what Ryoma hates from Kenta. He can mock him, push him, needle him, but Kenta’s restraint is stubborn.

In fact, Ryoma wants something else from him. He wants the softness stripped away. He wants that hidden violence Kenta keeps caged behind good manners and obedience.

And if words won’t drag it out…

“Fine… I’ll let my fists do the work then.”

He stops moving around the ring and settles into a lower stance, coiled and predatory.

The pendulum rhythm remains, but only through his lead foot; the rear one stays anchored, ready to absorb and fire in the same breath.

He abandons his speed advantage entirely, choosing instead to meet Kenta head-on. He knows full well Kenta holds the advantage in size, reach, and raw power. But he steps into it anyway.

They close the distance inch by inch, the air between them tightening. When Ryoma finally slips into Kenta’s reach, Kenta acts first. His longer arm fires out a quick, probing jab, one, then two.

Only the first taps Ryoma’s glove. Ryoma ducks under the second, sliding in deeper, folding his body into a sharp hook to the ribs.

Kenta reacts fast, pulling his left back and dropping his elbow to shield, but he can’t seal the angle in time.

Bug!

The punch slips under his armpit, a glancing shot, but still stiff enough to bite. He absorbs it and fires back immediately with a tight left hook.

Ryoma sees it coming, ducking under the arc, sends compact body shot to the guts, and snaps upward with a compact uppercut.

Bug. Dsh!

It clips Kenta’s chin, snapping his head for a brief second of white static, but Kenta barely flinches.

The weight difference speaks for him. Even Ryoma’s precision can’t fully stun him.

He keeps swinging, pouring short hooks into the pocket. They come sharp and disciplined. Ryoma parries the first three cleanly, and then senses the fourth coming too tight and steps back to create space, only to lunge in again with another burst of punches.

This time, Kenta doesn’t retreat. He ignores Ryoma’s first two shots…

Bug, bug!

…bracing his guard and waiting for the third, timing the exchange perfectly.

And so, they both throw a hook almost in the same time.

BAM!!!

A dual exchange.

His counter lands flush on Ryoma’s side, stopping the younger boy’s momentum for a single crucial heartbeat.

Kenta shoves lightly with his left forearm to create space, setting the pocket for a heavy cross.

Ryoma reads the setup instantly, but chooses not to evade. He wants to see it, wants to feel it, to draw Kenta’s savagery.

And Kenta fires.

Dhuack!

Leather cracks against Ryoma’s left cheek, snapping his head to the side. His vision bursts into white. The world flickers, glitches, like a frame skipping out of sync.

His Vision Grid system flashes red. A warning bleeds across his HUD.

Ryoma stumbles back, raising a double guard on instinct, bracing for the follow-up he expects Kenta to throw.

But nothing comes.

Ryoma blinks as another notification flickers into view.

***

[Alert!]

System Disruption Detected.

Session Interrupted: 1.08 seconds.

***

He realizes what it means. For just over a second, he wasn’t here. He was unconscious, standing, but not present. And Kenta didn’t hit him, didn’t use the opening.

To Ryoma, that lands harder than the punch itself.