VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

After the two clean shots, Satoru does not follow up. He resets instead, stepping back into range, staying honest and disciplined.

Kaga grins, taking it as hesitation, proof that his opponent is still green, still afraid to commit, even after landing those clean punches.

“Still green, aren’t you?”

He bumps his gloves together and tilts his head once as he steps forward.

Satoru takes the initiative. Two textbook jabs snap out.

Kaga reads them well. He blocks the first, steps back from the second, then hops in place, rolling his shoulders loose.

Then he comes again with two jabs to close the distance, followed by heavy punches. Straight shots, hard crosses, lead hooks, rear hooks. Everything thrown with bad intentions.

Satoru is not a slick mover, and he is not built to trade inside either. He manages risk instead. Light punches are caught on his gloves and forearms. A few body shots thud into his side, absorbed and accepted.

Dug. Dug. Thud! Thud!

When Kaga tries to cut the ring harder, Satoru responds with head movement, small pivots, side steps, or measured retreats.

“Shigetaka keeps pressing forward,” one commentator says.

“Yoshitomo is still very conservative,” the other adds. “He’s not giving anything back.”

And that is true; Satoru stays economical, only throwing a jab here and there, nothing more.

His focus remains on adjusting to the tension, to the ring, and to the reckless rhythm of his opponent.

Step by step, he is driven back to the ropes again.

And this time, Kaga is ready, not letting him away like before. His punches shorten. His targets drop to the body.

He closes space, cutting off exits, preventing Satoru from throwing anything meaningful. Satoru tries to block, angles his arms to block the punches. But a few blows still hit his side.

Then the bell rings.

Ding!

And the referee steps in.

Kaga raises both hands and leans forward for a moment, a wordless threat, before turning to the crowd and roaring.

“Yearrgh! Easy! This fight is mine!”

He walks back to the red corner looking victorious, still burning with adrenaline, his breathing heavy.

“Clear round for Shigetaka,” a commentator says.

“He imposed his will there,” the other agrees.

Satoru remains by the ropes for a moment, looking around the ring. The noise is still there, but it no longer presses in on him.

He took some clean body shots, and the round belongs to Kaga. Yet he feels nothing alarming. No panic. No tension. No fatigue.

Ryoma and the blue corner already climb the ring. But they do not call him over. Only when Satoru turns to them does Ryoma gesture.

“How does it feel?” Ryoma asks.

“I don’t know how…” Satoru says, a small uncertain laugh slipping out, “but I feel good tonight.”

The mood in the blue corner is light as Satoru drops on the stool, too casual. It looks strange compared to what just happened.

“That’s an odd reaction from Yoshitomo’s corner,” a commentator notes. “He took pressure all round, but they don’t look concerned at all.”

Hiroshi hands him water. Satoru rinses his mouth and spits into the bucket. And his breathing is already steady.

Ryoma glances toward the red corner, scanning the opponent. Kaga is still animated, pacing, feeding off the moment. Even from here, Ryoma can see the excitement has not settled, and the breathing is still off.

Then he turns back and drops to one knee in front of Satoru.

“You lost that round,” he says calmly. “But it was a good investment. You controlled your mind. You showed awareness.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And your opponent?”

Satoru nods. “I can feel his punches. I know which ones I need to avoid. Even when he hits me, I’m ready for it.”

“That’s important,” Ryoma says. “Nothing is more dangerous than punches you don’t expect.”He pauses. “And I think you’re done studying now.”

“I was thinking the same,” Satoru says. “I can start fighting the way I do in sparring.”

“Treating it like sparring is fine,” Ryoma says. “Just don’t underestimate him.”

“I won’t,” Satoru says. “He’s strong. But I’ve taken worse in the gym.”

Ryoma nods once. “Good. Next round, fight the way you normally do. But I’ll give you one simple rule.”

Satoru leans in, listening. And Ryoma lifts his fist to just below his own eye line.

“Stay discipline,” he says. “Don’t think about his head. Don’t overcommit. Aim at the shoulders and chest. Keep your punches compact. And always bring your guard back here.”

He holds Satoru’s gaze. “Follow that rule until the bell, or until I give you the codes.”

Satoru blinks, expectant. “The codes?”

“Yes, our codes” Ryoma says. “I’ll tell you when it’s time. But don’t fixate on it. Focus on your opponent. They may change their approach. So don’t rush it.”

The referee calls for the seconds out. Satoru rises as Hiroshi pulls the stool clear.

“Stay disciplined. Stay patient,” Ryoma says, holding Satoru’s shoulder firmly before slipping through the ropes.

Across the ring, the red corner has really adjusted as well.

“You hear me, Kaga,” Coach Sonoda Arinori calls from the apron. “Don’t underestimate him. This might be your hardest fight yet.”

Kaga bristles at the thought. He hates acknowledging it. But out of respect for Arinori, he listens. He reins himself in, tightens his approach.

When he lifts his eyes to Satoru again, the triumph is gone.

Only focus remains.

***

The bell sounds, and both fighters leave their corners.

Kaga strides toward the center with visible aggression, shoulders rolled forward, gloves hanging low below chest level. His eyes stay locked, sharp and hungry.

Satoru steps out more cautiously. His guard stays compact, both gloves held just below eye level, high enough to protect, low enough to see everything.

Kaga takes the initiative again. This time, the punches come tighter.

Dug. Dug.

Dug. Dug. Dug.

The wide swings from the first round are gone. His elbows stay closer, his left hand working more frequently, snapping out to set rhythm and distance.

Satoru blocks and parries, feeling the change, testing whether the pressure carries the same danger.

And yes, the punches are faster now. Even when the cross comes through, it feels lighter than before.

It’s still solid, but no longer loaded with reckless force, harder to slip, harder to dodge.

So he adjusts, pivots more, changes angles, steps out instead of straight back, refusing to be walked directly to the ropes.

When he answers, nothing dramatic; just left hand, flicking out to disrupt, to interrupt timing rather than damage.

Jab. Jab. A probing touch. Checking. Side-stepping.

Still, Kaga keeps pressing, cutting space patiently now. He herds Satoru backward, steering him with short right hooks, guiding him toward the corner.

Satoru blocks and shifts to his right, but he realizes the intent just in time.

Another right hook comes. Satoru leans hard into the ropes, creating space, letting the glove graze across his chest. In the same motion, he slips out the other side.

“Oh… that’s awareness,” one commentator says, voice lifting despite himself.

“He didn’t panic there,” the other adds. “That’s ring sense. He used the ropes, didn’t let them trap him.”

And suddenly, now it’s Kaga whose back faces the ropes.

Satoru steps in, pressure measured, staying loyal to the left.

Jab. Jab. Jab.

When Kaga’s guard tightens, Satoru fires the right, not to hurt, but to pin the glove in place. And then he slips a short left hook into the ribs.

Thud!

He resets immediately, disciplined, eyes steady.

When Kaga steps forward to answer, Satoru meets him with a compact one-two.

Dsh! Thud!

The jab skims the shoulder at an angle. The cross lands clean against the chest.

It’s not heavy, but decisive enough to break Kaga’s momentum.

Satoru resets again, pivots, changes angle, and waits.

Kaga tries to reclaim control with a jab and a lead hook. Satoru reads it cleanly, parries the jab, then shifts his right arm to shield the hook.

Dp. Dug.

And answers at once with another textbook one-two, straight down the middle.

The jab is blocked, but the cross slams into the chest again.

Bugh!

Kaga’s breathe catches, his face twitches with irritation.

“This pace… it’s changing,” one commentator says carefully.

“Yoshitomo’s starting to dictate the terms,” the other adds. “This is no longer chaos.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. The fight, for the first time tonight, begins to feel deliberate, measured and calculated, unlike all the chaotic fights they’ve seen so far.