VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

It isn’t just Kenta who notices it. He’s the first to pause, hands resting on his knees as he catches his breath, eyes drifting toward the mat.

Then Okabe too, slows his Pallof pull. Aramaki also turns his attention, all three of them drawn by the same unexpected sound, Ryoma’s careless laughter.

They exchange glances, silent and brief. Since when did he look that relaxed?

Ryohei, working closest to Ryoma, abandons his pendulum-step drill and wanders over. He takes in the scene, and clicks his tongue.

“You two look like toddlers,” he says, amused. “What is this, playtime?”

Aki freezes mid-poke, then quickly tucks a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, composure returning.

Ryohei’s grin sharpens as he turns to her. “You’re spending all your time with him. Meanwhile, Okabe and I are about to fight for the Class-A final, you know.”

Okabe raises a hand from across the gym. “Don’t drag me in like I’m invisible.”

Aki blinks once, then her posture straightens as if a switch has flipped. The playful warmth drains from her expression, replaced by her familiar professional composure. She nods, already reaching for her recorder.

“You’re right. That’s on me,” she says. Turning to Ryoma, she gives a small apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’ll steal them for a bit.”

“Go ahead,” Ryoma replies easily.

He finishes his stretch, rises, and heads toward the locker room, muscles still warm. As he passes Nakahara’s office, he slows. The door isn’t fully closed, and Sera’s voice slips through the gap.

“I still don’t like it,” Sera is saying. “Changing his style now, teaching him to fight like an infighter… it’s dangerous.”

Ryoma hesitates, and then steps inside. A paused video of Ramos fills the screen, frozen mid-exchange. Nakahara stands beside it, arms folded, eyes sharp. And now both men turn as Ryoma enters.

“I’m not changing my style,” Ryoma says calmly, meeting Sera’s gaze. “I’m expanding it.”

He gestures lightly toward the screen. “I’m still an out-boxer. But if I’m forced inside, if there’s no space to work, I want tools there too. Tight space is where fights break. I’d rather be ready than pretend it won’t happen.”

Silence settles over the room as the video hums faintly behind them. Nakahara gives a small nod, quietly agreeing with Ryoma’s words.

Sera, however, still looks unconvinced. “I get the idea,” he says, arms crossing. “Being able to fight in every scenario is good. But you’re putting too much focus on infighting. I can see it when you train with me, your pendulum drills are losing sharpness. Ryoma, you have the best talent of this generation. You shouldn’t go back to the ancient style. First you start the old Soviet-style. And now, you even plan to go for the ancient in-fighting style.”

Nakahara’s brow creases. “Ancient?”

“In-fighting is ancient boxing,” Sera replies. “It’s been phased out. No one is foolish enough to be a pure infighter these days. No offense, Coach… but boxing has evolved. In-fighting doesn’t belong in the modern era anymore.”

“Hey, hey,” Ryoma cuts in lightly. “If Aramaki hears that, he won’t be happy.”

Sera barely reacts. “Even Aramaki knows it. That’s why he’s changing… why he’s learning to operate in mid-range now.”

Ryoma lifts both hands, easing the tension. “Alright, alright.” He walks over, taps the remote, and freezes the footage. “Let me ask you something instead. Have you figured out why this guy hasn’t lost yet?”

Sera hesitates, then answers, using the same logic he’s been defending. “Because he executes modern boxing perfectly.”

Ryoma smiles and shakes his head. “You’re not wrong, but you’re missing something important.”

Sera’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t ask Ryoma to continue. His philosophy is already settled, leaving little space for doubt.

“He does follow modern boxing to the letter,” Ryoma continues calmly. “But the real reason he’s never been truly challenged is simpler. Everyone abandoned in-fighting.”

He gestures at the frozen image on the screen. “Eighteen fights, and not once has he faced someone who can genuinely fight in tight space. Sure, there are still fighters like Aramaki at the lower levels. But as they move up, they gradually abandon that style and shift to safer mid-range fighting. And this guy knows it. He’s built his entire career on taking advantage of that gap.”

Sera frowns, the words settling uneasily in his mind. It sounds almost philosophical; elegant, maybe even convincing, but still hard to accept. Boxing, to him, is built on clear answers, not ideas that live in the gaps between styles.

Ryoma notices the hesitation immediately. Without pressing the argument, he reaches for the remote and restarts the footage.

“Alright,” he says calmly. “Then let me show you. I’ll break down the real secret behind this guy’s boxing.”

The screen flickers back to the opening bell. Round one plays out in real time. Two fighters circling, testing range, trading information more than punches. Ryoma says nothing, letting the moments speak for themselves.

“Nothing yet,” he remarks as the round ends. “This is just feeling each other out.”

He taps the remote as the second round begins, slowing the playback to three-quarters speed. The movements stretch just enough to reveal what the eye usually misses. Foot placements linger. Weight shifts become readable.

“Now watch carefully,” Ryoma says, eyes fixed on the screen.

Ryoma lets the slowed footage run for several seconds before speaking. On the screen, Ramos glides forward, posture straight, head steady, shoulders loose.

“Look at his posture first,” Ryoma says quietly. “Almost always vertical.”

Sera leans in despite himself.

“That’s not just about avoiding counters,” Ryoma continues. “It’s efficiency. When your spine stays stacked, you don’t bleed stamina holding yourself up. No wasted tension. No extra corrections after every movement.”

He taps the screen, pausing on a frame where Ramos is between exchanges, gloves loose at chest height, breathing calm.

“And look at his form,” Ryoma adds. “When he’s not striking, he’s completely relaxed. No flexing. No bracing. Stress-free boxing.”

The video resumes. Ramos surges forward, punches rattling off in bursts, short, sharp, and relentless.

“Now his rhythm,” Ryoma says, slowing it further. “He throws a huge volume, but none of these punches are too heavy. They’re compact. No lunging. No overreaching.”

Ramos’s feet barely widen as he punches. His head stays centered. Each strike snaps out and returns.

“That’s the trick,” Ryoma says. “Because he never commits his weight forward, he can reset instantly. Defense comes back naturally. His posture stays even. And again, less stamina spent.”

Sera watches closely now, the chaos he remembered dissolving into something mechanical.

“Most fighters exaggerate,” Ryoma continues. “Big rolls. Big slips. Wide pivots. They think movement equals defense. But all that costs energy. This guy… every motion is trimmed down. Even his sways are minimal.”

He pauses the video again, this time when Ramos absorbs a body shot.

“Here,” Ryoma says. “This is where people think they found the answer.”

The opponent steps in from mid-range and snaps a clean hook into Ramos’s body, bending sharply at the waist, the punch landing with speed and snap before he immediately pulls back to safety.

“He does take a few,” Ryoma admits. “And sure, body shots matter. But hits like these?” He shrugs. “I can endure them too.”

Sera frowns. “Then what’s wrong?”

Ryoma rewinds the footage several seconds, stopping just before the punch lands. He steps aside slightly and turns to Nakahara, the in-fighting specialist, inviting the old coach’s seasoned eye without a word.

“Coach. Your eyes.”

Nakahara steps closer to the screen, eyes narrowing as he studies the frozen frame. After a long moment, he exhales softly, as if confirming a suspicion Ryoma tries to share.

“It looks good,” the old man says. “Fast. Sharp. Flashy.” He lifts a finger. “But it’s empty.”

He gestures at the opponent’s feet. “No weight transfer. No push from the calves. No drive from the thighs. The hips don’t twist. The spine doesn’t coil.”

Nakahara shakes his head. “It’s just an arm.”

The video resumes briefly, showing the punch snap in and retract.

“That hook was trained for mid-range,” Nakahara continues. “Land quick, reset quick. Safe. But against someone like Ramos, it doesn’t accumulate damage.”

Ryoma nods. “Exactly. No infighting mechanics. No compression. No real force.”

He looks back at the screen, where Ramos is already swarming again, posture unchanged, rhythm intact.

“That’s the secret,” Ryoma says. “People try to stop him without entering his world. And as long as no one truly fights him in tight space, he keeps running through them.”

Sera doesn’t respond immediately. His certainty has cracked, not shattered, but enough to let doubt in.

His unease deepens, his brows knitting as he tries to hold his ground. “Then apply the same logic. Fight him in his own terms. Compact. Efficient. Modern.”

Ryoma exhales and gives a small shrug. “That’s where my limit is. He’s built that discipline over his entire career. A month of preparation isn’t enough to replicate it. And he already has the stamina to support that style.”

He pauses, then adds, “Sekino visited yesterday. Noguchi too. They sparred him. They landed body shots, good ones. Ramos slowed down, a bit, but not until round nine.”

Ryoma looks back at Sera. “If I fight like him, I’ll slow by six or seven. I can survive to ten, sure. But my output drops. The numbers fall. And he wins on decision, just like most of his wins.”