VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Morning breaks with the dry rustle of paper and the low murmur of television news. Across kiosks and café counters, the same name repeats itself in ink and voice alike.

Aqualis Names Rising Boxer Ryoma Takeda as Brand Ambassador.

From Small Gym to Corporate Face: Ryoma Takeda’s Breakthrough.

Photos accompany the headlines; Ryoma mid-bow beneath warm banquet lights, Hirotaka Fujimoto beside him, one hand resting lightly on a young fighter’s shoulder.

Commentary follows, some measured, some breathless. Analysts talk about timing, about strategy, about how Aqualis has quietly placed its bet on a new face rather than a proven champion.

Boxing columns revisit the Masuda knockout, the Ramos finish, connecting dots that now feel obvious in hindsight.

What was whispered last night has become consensus by morning. The city absorbs it quickly. Phones buzz. Names are searched. Opinions begin forming before noon.

And in a quiet sunlit kitchen far from the noise, Logan Rhodes sits at the head of his table, dressed casually. A porcelain cup steams beside him. Buttered toast cools, untouched.

Several newspapers are spread neatly before him. He flips past one, then another, until a headline catches his eye.

Surprise Announcement Steals Spotlight at Roppongi Gala.

Logan pauses, lifts the paper, reads more slowly now. And his eyes slowly narrow.

His expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes sharpens, calculating, as Ryoma’s name and Hirotaka Fujimoto settle into place.

Moments later, Logan’s eyes linger on a line beneath the photograph.

December 25th, 2016.

He murmurs it under his breath, almost incredulous. “Last night…”

The cup pauses halfway to his lips.

“Nenmatsu party on Christmas?”

In Japan, Christmas means something else entirely; lovers, quiet dinners, a private sort of warmth. Corporate nenmatsu parties come later, closer to New Year’s Eve. Logan knows this. He has learned the rhythms well enough, even if he never truly belongs to them.

But NSN isn’t a Japanese company. His world runs on Western calendars, Western customs. For his partners, Christmas is the night. The night you gather influence, spectacle, power in one room.

That was the point of the gala he’d scheduled; early, deliberate, unmistakably grand. And Ryoma was supposed to be there.

Logan folds the paper slightly, eyes narrowing. He remembers Reika’s message that Ryoma would attend, clear and certain.

He’d even told her to pick the boy up personally, to make sure nothing slipped.

Yet the photograph before him doesn’t lie. Fujimoto’s hand on Ryoma’s shoulder. The applause. The word ambassador printed cleanly in black.

Which means the contract wasn’t signed last night. It was done earlier. Quietly. While Logan was still arranging the stage.

A local company. Aqualis Labs. Slipped in under his radar and took the moment he thought belonged to him.

And the headline: Surprise Announcement Steals Spotlight at Roppongi Gala.

It’s the kind of surprise that leaves Logan feeling outplayed. And for someone like him, there is no worse sensation than that.

Logan exhales through his nose, the sound sharp. Betrayal prickles, not just at Ryoma, but at the audacity of it. Accepting NSN’s invitation while already committed elsewhere. Playing both sides. Or worse, letting himself be used as leverage.

Still, his composure never breaks. He lowers the paper and looks toward the hallway.

“Where’s Reika?” he asks, voice even.

His wife looks up from the counter. “She didn’t come home last night.”

As if on cue, the low growl of an engine rolls up the driveway. Logan’s gaze lifts at once. He knows that sound.

The sports car eases to a stop out front, the same one Reika drove the night before.

Something tightens in Logan’s chest. His jaw sets, eyes sharpening as he turns toward the hallway that leads from the front entrance into the living room.

Moments later, the front door opens. He hears a servant greeting softly.

“Welcome back, Reika-sama.”

“Mm… morning,” Reika replies, voice dull with fatigue.

She steps into view, and Logan takes her in with a single glance; the faint shadow beneath her eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she presses her fingers briefly to her temple, as if warding off a headache that hasn’t fully let go.

She comes closer, and Logan notices it at once, the lingering trace of last night. Perfume, layered over something sharper, unmistakable.

She had been drunk. And the hangover is still clinging to her.

But what stings most is what she doesn’t do now. She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t apologize.

Reika simply sets the car keys down on the side table beside him with a muted clink, then turns away, already moving toward the stairs, one hand braced against the wall as if the house itself is spinning.

Logan watches her in silence, anger coiling tighter with every step she takes.

“Reika,” he says at last, voice flat and cold. “Where were you?”

“I stayed the night at Aki’s place,” she answers without turning back.

There’s no explanation, no respect at all.

Normally, Logan would let it slide. Normally, this is just how she is.

But not today.

“LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU’RE TALKING!”

Logan roars, the sound tearing through the house like a crack of thunder.

“YOU UNGRATEFUL WOMAN!!!”

Reika freezes mid-step. Her breath catches, dread crawling up her spine as she turns slowly, stunned.

Even her mother stiffens in shock, face slowly turns pale, blinking slowly, lips visibly tremble.

Logan has always carried authority, but never like this. Never unrestrained, clearly never at home. And that, more than the shouting itself, makes the silence that follows feel dangerous.

The silence stretches, heavy enough to press on the chest, a moment that feels far longer than it should. Then Logan’s voice explodes again, sharp and commanding.

“COME HERE. NOW.”

Reika stiffens. Dread coils tight in her stomach.

But slowly, she turns back, her hand brushing the railing as she starts down the stairs. Each step feels wrong, forced, as if the air itself resists her.

By the time she reaches the bottom, her legs refuse to carry her any farther. She stops, rooted in place, breath shallow, certain that if she takes one more step, something inside her will break.

Logan notices it then; the way her shoulders draw inward, the way her feet refuse to move. For a brief moment, something like restraint flickers across his face.

He inhales deeply, slow and deliberate, and when he speaks again his voice is lower. But the anger is still there.

“I let you use my car to pick up that boy,” he says, each word weighed. “Not only did you fail to bring him to me, you had the audacity not to return at all. No call. No message.”

“Instead, you used my car to get drunk somewhere and didn’t even come home. And now you stand there without a single word of apology.”

His eyes harden. “What do you take me for?”

Reika can’t speak. The words clog somewhere behind her ribs, pressing, burning, refusing to come out. Logan’s stare pins her in place, strips her bare.

Then suddenly…

“ANSWER ME!!!”

Logan snaps again, sharper than before.

Reika’s body jerks. Then her knees buckle. She slowly drops to the floor, hands braced, trembling weakly.

Her mother rushes forward. “Dear, please… stop this already.”

“That’s enough,” Logan cuts in, waving her off. “I’ve indulged her long enough. Chance after chance… and this is how she repays my trust?”

Reika sobs. And then finally, she breaks completely.

“What was I supposed to do?” she cries. “I tried. I did everything. I picked him up. I told him what we gave him. And he didn’t want it. He didn’t even see me. Not even as a friend.”

Logan’s fist tightens, knuckles whitening, trembling with mounting anger.

He has read the papers, and he knows what Ryoma chose. And seeing her like this, ruined on the floor, his disappointment twists into something darker, hotter, until Ryoma’s name feels unbearable in his chest.