VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The chairman waits until the last ripple of reaction fades, and then straightens the documents in front of him. His voice, when he speaks, is neutral again, stripped of any response to the number that just stunned the room.

“The OPBF hereby confirms the result of today’s purse bid,” he says.

He pauses, allowing the words to settle into the silence.

“The highest bid has been submitted by Nakahara Boxing Gym. Proposed total purse: USD 500.000.”

A few pens finally resume scratching, slower now, more deliberate.

“The approved purse split will be 70% to the champion, 30% to the challenger, in accordance with OPBF regulations. The bout is scheduled for August twenty-fourth. Venue: Tokyo, Japan.”

The chairman glances once at the document before continuing. “Nakahara Boxing Gym is hereby granted promotional rights for the event, subject to contract execution and full compliance with OPBF requirements.”

Then he lifts his gaze and lets it travel across the room, not lingering on any single face. “Formal bout contracts will be issued to both the champion and the challenger. All parties are required to execute the agreement within 14 days from today.”

His tone remains flat, procedural. “Failure by either party to sign within the prescribed period will result in forfeiture of rights and the imposition of applicable penalties, as outlined in OPBF regulations.”

The chairman inclines his head slightly. “This concludes the purse bid.”

Folders close one by one around the room. Lawyers slide documents back into briefcases, zippers rasping softly as chairs scrape backward. Clients rise without ceremony, already moving on to the next calculation.

Victor Pongchai is the first to step forward. He approaches Anurak with an easy smile, extending a hand.

“Congratulations,” Victor says. “You didn’t win the bid, but you won something better.”

Anurak looks at the hand for a moment before taking it.

“Your fighter walks out with USD 150.000, as a challenger.” Victor continues, amused. “Even the former champion didn’t make that much defending the belt.”

Anurak exhales through his nose. “That’s true.”

Victor releases his grip and straightens. “Enjoy the fight. Because I will, though I don’t plan to come back here just to watch the event that slipped from my grip.”

He turns and leaves, his team falling in behind him without another glance.

Anurak remains where he is, dissatisfaction still etched into his face. He turns toward Nakahara’s side of the room, then looks back at Thanid Kouthai.

He lifts his shoulders and nods once. “There it is. Your biggest purse.”

Thanid does not smile, but he nods back.

They leave soon after, and the absence they leave behind feels lighter than expected. They lost the bid, but they did not lose the war. In fact, the weight has simply shifted, now on Nakahara’s shoulders.

***

Across the room, Jackson turns in his seat, his eyes landing on Ryoma. And the contempt on Ryoma’s face is unmistakable that makes him chuckle.

“You don’t look happy,” he says. “Why? You should be grateful. Just by me sitting here, your purse exploded.”

He glances briefly at Nakahara and Sera. “Though I’m not sure your promoter can stop the bleeding.”

He gestures, and his bodyguards fall in behind him as he exits, laughter trailing him out of the room.

“Good luck,” he adds lightly. “Try not to burn that half million dollars.”

Reika lingers, blinking as if the ground has shifted without warning. She watches Jackson’s back, then to Ryoma, then to Nakahara.

“Congratulations,” she says softly, forcing a smile. “I still can’t believe you bid that high. It makes my idea seem… foolish.”

Ryoma exhales sharply. He does not answer, but doesn’t hide how annoyed he is. Shaking his head, he turns away, and approaches Fujimoto.

“Thank you, Fujimoto-san,” he says, bowing deeply.

Fujimoto inclines his head in return. Then Ryoma moves to escort him out, Kaito falling in step beside them.

Reika can only watch him walk away, never sparing her a glance. That is when it lands, deep and heavy. She’s disappointed him, again.

She turns to Nakahara, confusion still clinging to her voice. “What… what’s wrong?”

Nakahara looks back briefly, noticing Sera still speaking with Ogawa, their lawyer packing his bag.

Nakahara turns back to her, lowering his voice. “Five hundred thousand dollars is not a blessing, Reika. For an OPBF title, it’s excessive. Normal bids only sit around one hundred fifty.”

Reika listens, looking so stunned. “But most of that money will come to Ryoma, right? That’s what my brother said earlier. Then why… it seemed to me he didn’t like it? Like… Like I’ve created another trouble to him.”

“Yes, Ryoma gets seventy percent,” Nakahara continues. “But the burden is on us now. Arena size. Broadcasting. Marketing. Everything must justify that number. This was funded by Fujimoto-san. But I can’t treat it as free money. If the event fails, the loss is ours.”

Reika swallows hard, and her face pales. “Did I… do something wrong?”

Then she adds quickly. “I just wanted to help. I was going to win the bid myself and give you the event.”

Sera steps in, standing between them. “That’s not what your brother did. And I get it. Big promoters sit down, inflate the room, and force smaller ones like us to overextend. That’s how he weakens us before we step into his level.”

“But that wasn’t my intention,” she says, covering her mouth.

“Intent doesn’t matter,” Sera says. “Either we lost the bid, or we won it by bleeding, the damage has done.”

He walks away, and does not turn back. Nakahara and Ogawa follow behind him.

“Please, let me help,” Reika begs, following them. “I’ll take responsibility for what my brother did.”

Nakahara shakes his head. “This isn’t something you can fix.”

Reika rushes ahead and bows deeply at the doorway. “Please,” she says. “Let me help in any way I can.”

Sera exhales. “And how would you help?”

She straightens. “My father entrusted NSN Tokyo to me.”

Sera lets out a short incredulous breath. “You can’t be serious. Logan Rhodes would never entrust a company that large to someone this naïve.”

The remark lands hard. Reika stiffens, hurt plain on her face, but she does not argue. After a moment, she exhales and dips her head.

“I know I’m naïve,” she says quietly. “I’ve never denied that. That’s exactly why I’m trying to learn. And I’m not alone.”

Right on cue, a familiar woman steps into view. “Good to see you again, Nakahara-san,” she says. “Congratulations on winning the bid.”

Reika gestures. “This is Maria. My father’s assistant. She’s overseeing operations while he’s away.”

Maria bows slightly. “I look forward to working with you.”

Nakahara turns to Sera. No words are exchanged, but the understanding between them is immediate and complete.

If possible, they will never do business with Logan Rhodes again. Not through NSN, not through his children, not through anyone carrying that name.

But it is not something they can say out loud, clearly not to Reika.

They have known Reika too long to pretend otherwise. Long enough to see past her position, past her family name, past her clumsy attempts at involvement.

She is naïve, yes. But more than that, she is fixated on Ryoma, on the idea of helping him. On proving herself useful in a world she barely understands.

And both men recognize it for what it is. She is falling for their fighter, badly.

That realization leaves a bitter taste. As adults, as professionals, they understand the danger of it, and the temptation too.

Leveraging her goodwill, her access and her resources, could ease their burden dramatically. It could solve problems they have no clean answers for.

But it would also mean using her, and a risk dealing with Logan Rhodes again in the future.

Nakahara exhales, the weight of the choice pressing in from both sides. For now, he chooses delay.

“I’ll think about it,” he says at last. Then, more formally, “If we need anything, we’ll contact your office. Now please excuse us.”

It is not a rejection. But it is not acceptance either. And for that opportunity, Reika bows again, deeper this time.

“Thank you, Nakahara-san. I appreciate it.”