VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

“Jealousy isn’t always about wanting what someone else has. Sometimes it’s about realizing they reached it faster than you ever thought possible.”

Okabe feels it sharply, lodged somewhere between his ribs. Gratitude comes too easily, but right behind it trails something heavier.

Ryoma is just a junior, someone he once corrected in the past, and now the gym bends around his decisions, breathes because of his momentum.

Ryohei feels it too, thought he doesn’t express it. He just looks at the equipment again, thinking how badly he wants to prove he deserves to stand in the same place Ryoma reached so casually.

It isn’t resentment. It’s a silent pressure, self-directed, and impossible to ignore.

As they are burdened by this twisted feelings, Ryoma turns to them, grinning casually, unaware of the storm he’s stirred.

“By the way,” he says, easy as ever, “Aqualis is holding an event tomorrow. Company thing. They want me there. You guys should come with me.”

For a moment, no one answers, until Nakahara clears his throat to break the silence.

“I’ll go,” he says, then glances over his shoulder, “with Kenta.”

Kenta gives a reluctant smile. “Guess I don’t have much choice.”

Okabe lets out a short breath, half a laugh. “I’ll pass. Four days until the Class-A final. If I lose, I don’t want anyone saying I wasted time at a Christmas party.”

Without waiting for a response, he steps toward the new speed bag and starts hitting it barehanded.

Ryohei snorts. “Same excuse,” he says, already moving to the other bag. “Can’t blame the sponsor if I screw up.”

They fall into sync, leather popping fast.

“Damn,” Okabe grins between strikes. “This thing feels amazing. Brand new.”

“Kid knows how to pick the best stuff,” Ryohei replies. “Way better than that old one.”

Okabe laughs. “Yeah. Remember how we used to fight over it?” He glances down the row. “Now look at this. Lined up like chicks…”

“Don’t finish that,” Hiroshi laughs, shaking his head. Then he glances at Ryoma. “Looks like I’m staying too. Someone has to keep an eye on these idiots.”

Sera lifts both hands in mock surrender. “I’ll pass as well.”

Ryoma doesn’t press it. He just turns to Aramaki. “What about you?” he asks casually. “I’m bringing my mom. You can bring Kaori and Nanako. We’ll make it our Christmas party… on their budget.”

Aramaki blinks, then smiles, caught completely off guard.

“Sure,” he says.

Ryoma nods once, then reaches for a box near the wall and hoists it under his arm. “I’m heading out,” he says, already moving. “See you tomorrow.”

Aramaki jolts, scrambling for his bag. “Wait… I’m coming.” He catches up just as Ryoma steps outside, the cold winter air cutting clean after the warmth of the gym.

They walk side by side down the street. After a moment, Aramaki speaks, softer now. “I wonder how Kaori will react. She’s been talking about Christmas lately… the old ones. It’s been years since we really had one.”

Ryoma hums in acknowledgment. “Same here,” he says. “I haven’t had one since the last time I spent it with my dad.”

The words linger between them, heavier than either expected. Aramaki knows the story of Ryoma’s father, and his thoughts drift to Tohoku’s tsunami back in 2011.

Sensing the gloom creeping in, he clears his throat deliberately. “Man… I don’t even know what to wear,” he mutters, forcing a grin. “Hope my graduation suit still fits.”

He laughs a little too loud. Ryoma says nothing, unsure where to step, afraid that pushing the joke further might land where it hurts instead.

Then Aramaki glances at the box tucked under Ryoma’s arm. “By the way… what’s in that?”

Ryoma looks down at it. “Something for my mom.” He shrugs lightly. “You can’t just buy stuff for the gym and forget about your mom at home, right?”

Aramaki lets out a small laugh. “Of course,” he says.

***

December 25th, 2016.

Christmas in Tokyo arrives without snow. No white streets, no frozen silence like the postcards from Europe or the films from America. Just cold, dry air, a clear winter sky, and Ryoma’s breath fogging faintly as he walks into the kitchen, fresh from the shower.

The barbershop closed earlier than usual today. His mother is already home, probably showered by now, changing at her own pace. It would take time.

Ryoma steps into the kitchen, towel draped loosely over his shoulders, intending only to grab a drink.

Once he opens the fridge, he stops short.

The refrigerator is packed to the edges; rows of Aqualis Labs products stacked with almost clinical precision.

Bottles of protein drinks, fortified milk, isotonic blends, supplement shots. Clean labels, muted colors. All unopened. All new. A delivery timestamp from this morning still clings to one of the boxes on the counter.

This is what it looks like being a brand ambassador. He reaches in and takes only an isotonic bottle, closes the door without touching the rest, and heads back upstairs.

As he climbs the stairs, he takes a long gulp. It’s his first time drinking it, and…

“…Wow,” he mutters. “Not bad.”

It’s light, faintly sweet, with just enough salt to feel refreshing instead of heavy. Exactly the kind of drink that goes down easy, like it knows exactly what a tired body needs.

>

Once inside the bed room, he opens the garment bag laid carefully on his bed.

The suit inside looks almost unreal; deep charcoal fabric, smooth as poured ink, catching the light like it was made to be admired.

It’s a full luxury set; jacket, trousers, crisp shirt, silk tie, even the underlayers, precise, expensive, intentional, the kind he could only have dreamed of in his previous life.

It smells faintly of money well spent. When he slips it on and faces the mirror, the reflection staring back feels… larger and sharper. Like someone who finally belongs in the rooms he’s been walking into.

>

>

“When your head’s full of dreams and ambition,” Ryoma mutters, adjusting the tie, “you forget to spoil yourself with things like clothes.”

For a moment, he just stands there, shoulders squared, pride settling comfortably in his chest.

Then Aramaki’s voice from yesterday intrudes; awkward, half-joking, unsure about what to wear. About making do.

Ryoma exhales understandingly, and the suit comes off. He can’t afford to wear this expensive suits now considering his closest friend will be beside him looking humble.

“Should have bought for them too,” he regrets.

He digs out his old graduation suit instead. The moment he buttons it, the fabric pulls tight across his shoulders.

He frowns, twists slightly, and then sighs. “Too small already.”

It doesn’t fit anymore. He’s grown taller, at least a couple of centimeters since then.

Clicking his tongue, he abandons it and heads for his mother’s room.

The door is open. Inside Fumiko is already dressed and ready, wearing the same modest clothes she’s had since her husband was still around.

Ryoma frowns. “Mom… why aren’t you wearing the new set I bought you? Don’t you like them?”

Fumiko smiles, amused. “Those make me look ten years younger. I don’t want strange uncles flirting with me.”

“You’re overestimating yourself,” Ryoma scoffs, shaking his head.

She laughs lightly. “You’re underestimating your mother.”

He hesitates, then clears his throat. “Um… do we still have Dad’s suit? My graduation one doesn’t fit me anymore.”

“Your dad’s suit?” Fumiko turns to the wardrobe, clicking her tongue as she opens it. “You buy your mother new clothes and forget your own?”

Ryoma scratches the back of his head, smile turning sheepish. “I… forgot.”

She shakes her head, but her smile doesn’t fade as she reaches for the hanger.

Ryoma returns to his room with his father’s suit draped carefully over his arm. As he steps inside, his phone is ringing.

A call from Reika.

He sighs and answers. “Yeah?”

[Ryoma, where are you?]

“Home.”

[What? You’re still home? The event’s already been going for a while. My father keeps asking about you.]

Ryoma frowns. “Event? What event?”

[Ryoma… don’t tell me you forgot. It’s the NSN gala dinner.]

“Wait,” he says, straightening. “I don’t remember you ever inviting me.”

[What are you talking about? I told you back at the gym. Multiple times.]

“I seriously don’t remember,” he replies. “I was probably too focused on training and ignored your rambling.”

[…Rambling? I also texted you. And you replied.”

“I did?”

[Yes. You did.]

“Hold on.”

He pulls the phone from his ear and scrolls through his messages. There they are; several texts from Reika about the gala, all ignored. Until one, reply sent late at night, four days ago.

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

Ryoma stares at it. He has no memory of typing it. None. His confidence in his own memory only makes it worse.

There’s only one other person in the house. So he heads downstairs.

“Mom,” he asks, trying to sound casual, “did you use my phone before? Reply to Reika’s message or something?”

Fumiko looks genuinely baffled. “Reika? Why would I do that?”

He studies her face, and there are no signs of lie.

That makes him even more baffled. Worse yet, now he’s stuck in dilemma since he’s already committed to Aqualis Labs, with a public appearance scheduled.

He can’t just vanish to attend NSN’s gala instead. And yet, somehow, he’s already said yes to Reika.