VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Nakahara notices too, his brow knitting. A champion shouldn’t be lurking like this, not unless he’s sending a message.

But before anyone can react further, Patrick steps slightly ahead of them, palm open in a gentle, ushering gesture.

“Ah, before we go,” he says, tone careful, almost apologetic. “If you don’t mind… they’ve been waiting for your arrival all morning. Very eager.”

“They?” Sera mutters.

Patrick leads them a few steps forward, and the figure Ryoma has already clocked comes fully into view.

Jade McConnel stands relaxed near the curb, hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders loose. And beside him, with posture unmistakably managerial, is Mark Holloway.

Ryoma’s shoulders tighten a fraction, mirroring Nakahara and Sera’s reaction as recognition sets in, surprise flickering as Mark Holloway’s presence fully registers.

Jade’s face breaks into a grin the moment he sees them. He steps forward without hesitation.

“Mate! You actually made it,” Jade says, arms already around him before Ryoma can react. “Long flight, yeah? You look wrecked… but, still alive.”

Ryoma blinks, caught off guard by the enthusiasm. “Ah, thank you,” he replies carefully, English precise, measured. “Yes. It was… long.”

Jade laughs. “Yeah, they’re brutal. I slept like a pretzel my first time. Thought my spine was done.” He gestures at Ryoma with open curiosity. “Been wanting to meet you. Watched your fights. You’re sharp. Mean left.”

Ryoma blinks, tension easing a notch. The hug still lingers awkwardly in his shoulders, unfamiliar, too close by Japanese standards.

“Thank you,” he says, bowing out of habit before stopping himself, straightening instead. “I watched yours too.”

Jade grins wider, clearly pleased.

Ryoma exhales quietly. So this is how foreigners do it, he thinks. Hugging you without permission.

The feeling reminds him, unexpectedly, of how his bromance with Aramaki started back then.

Aramaki feels it even more sharply. Watching from the side, he recognizes the shape of it immediately.

The tone, the ease, the way Jade treats Ryoma not as a rival but as someone already worth knowing.

That same careless sincerity, it reminds him of Ryoma two years ago, minus the sudden hug of course.

But still, Ryoma’s system doesn’t take it well.

>

>

Ryoma nods anyway. “Thank you for coming all the way. I appreciate that.”

Jade tilts his head, studying him openly, then grins wider. “You’re quieter than I expected. Thought the Cruel King would bite.”

Ryoma doesn’t rise to it. His eyes stay level, posture respectful but guarded.

>

Nearby, Nakahara steps toward Mark Holloway and bows deeply, formal and exact.

“Guddo dei,” he says solemnly. “Misteru… Haruwei.”

Then, realizing his limit, he switches to Japanese, gesturing slightly for Sera.

Sera moves in smoothly, translating as Nakahara continues, voice polite but firm, expressing surprise, gratitude, and restrained confusion at being welcomed like this, especially by the opposing camp.

Mark listens, then chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. He answers in English, casual, almost sheepish.

“Honestly? I told him not to,” Mark says, nodding toward Jade. “You deserve space. No pressure, no nonsense. But he wouldn’t shut up about meeting your kid.”

He sighs. “So I figured… if he’s going to be childish, I’d better be here to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Sera translates, and Nakahara listens.

Then the old man raises a hand immediately, shaking his head. There’s no irritation in his face, only measured gratitude.

He speaks briefly in Japanese.

Sera translates, choosing his words with care. “He says there’s no need to apologize. He appreciates your thoughtfulness, and he takes no offense at all.”

Nakahara finishes with a short sentence, bowing slightly.

“He says…,” Sera continues translating, “thank you for coming to meet us personally.”

Jade leans in again, lowering his voice conspiratorially, like they’re already on familiar terms. “No hard feelings, yeah? Just wanted to say welcome.”

Then he scratches the back of his neck and chuckles. “Bit of a mess with Sagawa, though. Heard he busted his own ribs in camp.

” He tilts his head, studying Ryoma openly now. “Guess that dropped you in my lap.“

Ryoma meets his gaze, steady. “I didn’t plan it that way.”

“Yeah,” Jade says lightly. “None of us ever do.” Then, softer, almost friendly again, “Just… take care of yourself, mate. Would be a shame if you ended up the same way before we even get to fight.”

For a second, it sounds like concern. For a second.

But Ryoma’s system still doesn’t take it well.

>

>

***

Their conversation take an awkward pause for a beat, until Patrick clears his throat gently, stepping forward before the moment can stretch any further.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, polite and professional. “If you don’t mind, we’ll load your luggage now. The minibus is ready.”

The spell breaks. Everyone moves at once.

Carts roll forward, bags are lifted, wheels thudding softly against the pavement. Ryoma steps back half a pace, letting the coaches handle the exchange, his attention still faintly tethered to Jade.

And then, unexpectedly, Jade reaches for Kenta’s bag. He hoists it easily onto his shoulder, already turning toward the minibus like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Kenta freezes. “Ah… uh… it’s okay,” he says quickly, forcing his English into shape. “I can do it myself.”

Jade glances back, grins easily. “Nah, mate. You’re guests here. Wouldn’t be right, would it?”

Kenta stands there, hands hovering uselessly, unsure whether to argue or bow.

By the time anyone can react, Jade’s already helping Patrick stack the last of the bags into the back. He dusts his hands off, satisfied, and then, without hesitation, climbs into the passenger seat beside the driver.

Nakahara blinks, genuinely puzzled, then looks to Sera; they share a quiet glance of matching curiosity and unease.

Behind them, Mark Holloway pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jade,” he calls, voice flat “What do you think you’re doing?

“

Jade leans out the window, expression innocent. “What? I’m taking them to the hotel. Making sure our guests get there safe.”

“No,” Mark says coolly. “You’re not.”

Jade frowns. “Then how am I getting home? I left my car.”

“I’ll take you,” Mark replies without missing a beat. Then, turning to Nakahara, he inclines his head in apology. “I’m sorry about this. He gets… enthusiastic.”

Sera translates again, and Nakahara waves a hand lightly, a small smile breaking through.

Jade sighs, dramatic and defeated, climbing back out of the seat. He gives Ryoma a quick grin as he passes.

“See you soon, mate.”

Ryoma nods once, measured.

***

The minibus doors slide shut with a muted hiss, sealing off the noise of the airport.

Ryoma doesn’t look back. He sinks into the seat, shoulders pressing against the vinyl, and closes his eyes.

His body finally has permission to stop moving. Muscles loosen reluctantly, fatigue rushing in all at once. Whatever that scene was outside; smiles, handshakes, waving, it stays out there.

From the back row, Aramaki exhales through his nose. “What a weird champion.”

Kenta cranes his neck, squinting through the rear window. “Seriously…” he mutters. “Dude’s still waving.”

No one laughs, only Kenta and Aramaki shaking their heads in disbelief.

The bus eases forward, but the mood inside doesn’t follow. It lingers, caught on that unexpected meeting, on the image of a champion who hugged first and talked like a fan.

It doesn’t match the footage burned into their minds; the knockouts, the broken guards, the way Jade McConnel ends fights without hesitation.

Nakahara breaks the silence first, voice low but edged with authority.

“Kid…”

Ryoma doesn’t respond, his eyes still closed.

“Don’t confuse hospitality with intent,” Nakahara continues. “No matter how friendly he looks, he’s still the enemy. Don’t let that blur. No restrain, remember that.”

Kenta scoffs quietly. “Softening him up with smiles?” He shakes his head. “Kid’s called the Cruel King for a reason. Calling him soft would be the real insult.”

Patrick glances at them through the mirror, catching enough tone to guess the subject. “You’re talking about Jade, yeah?” he says easily. “Look, don’t overthink it. That’s genuinely how he is. Youngest kid in his family. Always cracking jokes, always overfamiliar. Half the time, I don’t think he remembers he’s an OPBF champion.”

The explanation lands, but it doesn’t fully settle. Only Ryoma and Sera fully understand him, and neither of them says a word, letting the silence answer instead.

Ryoma remains silent, breathing slow and measured, as if asleep. Only the slight flex of his fingers betrays that he’s awake.

Aramaki watches him from the side, unease creeping in. He’s felt it before, the subtle shift in Ryoma, the way he adapts not just to opponents, but to people. How easily he changes pace, tone, nature.

In their sparring lately, Ryoma has been holding back more than usual, too careful, too considerate. Not only with him, but also with Oyama.

And that worries Aramaki more than Ryoma’s fatigue.

Because Jade McConnel isn’t just friendly. He’s dangerous. A fighter who smiles at you before breaking you down, who ends bouts with concussive certainty. Someone who doesn’t need malice to hurt people.

If Ryoma mistakes his warmth for safety, if that smile softens him even a fraction, then the danger isn’t Jade at all. It’s what Ryoma might choose not to do when the moment actually demands his cruelty.