VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

For the second round, Umemoto steps out of his corner with zero adjustments. To him, Ryohei’s rhythm isn’t a complex riddle, just a puzzle he hasn’t bothered to solve yet.

They meet in the center, and the champion remains stoic, almost static, his gloves held low at shoulder height.

Ryohei resumes the assault, his lazy jabs swaying in that hypnotic pendulum cadence. He doesn’t obsess over Umemoto’s static head. Instead, he mixes the targets; high to the brow, mid-range to the upper arms, and low to the body.

But Umemoto parries them all with ease. There is no complexity to Ryohei’s strikes, and for nearly thirty seconds, the champion simply watches.

Then, as he finally sees the beat and the timing, his lips curl.

He waits for Ryohei’s step-in momentum, and…

Now!

Umemoto triggers his explosive step-in; one long violent stride coupled with a thundering right.

But at the exact moment of impact, Ryohei changes the beat. He feints a forward step but executes a half-step back instead.

Umemoto’s right straight only grazes Ryohei’s glove, a mere touch, and then the trap snaps shut.

Dsh! Dsh!

A razor-sharp one-two smacks Umemoto’s face, stunning him in his tracks.

“Umemoto is frozen! He walked right into a buzzsaw!”

“That wasn’t just a punch, it was a perfectly timed trap that snapped shut the moment the Champion committed to his step-in!”

Despite the shock, the champion’s stance remains rock-solid. Ryohei, sensing the danger, chooses to reclaim the distance rather than follow up.

Confusion begins to flicker in Umemoto’s eyes, but only for a moment. His combat instincts tell him something is off.

Just to make sure, he tries again, launching another assault, only to be met with the same result.

Dsh! Dsh!

Another one-two snaps his head back. He is frozen in place once more.

“Incredible! The champion is being picked apart!” the commentator screams.

“Umemoto looks completely baffled,” the other one adds. “He has the power, he has the speed, but he’s swinging at a ghost that strikes back twice as hard!”

The champion pays a heavy price for his aggression, his face marked by the sharp stings of Ryohei’s counters. But for Umemoto, this isn’t a loss. It is a calculated investment.

He isn’t a fighter built on complex philosophy or a high ring IQ. He is a creature of raw, primal instinct. While his mind struggles to grasp the technicalities, his body begins to realize what his logic hasn’t.

Umemoto absorbs the damage, letting his subconscious map out the rhythm of the ghost in front of him.

“Umemoto is taking heavy fire, but he’s not backing down!”

“It’s like he’s paying a blood tax just to stay in the pocket!

He’s getting hit, but he’s not losing his focus. He’s studying Ryohei’s every twitch!”

Ding!

“The bell ends a dominant second round for the challenger! Ryohei Yamada has effectively silenced the Osaka crowd!” the lead commentator continues.

“If Ryohei keeps this up, we’re looking at a new champion tonight,” the co-commentator adds. “But Umemoto isn’t the type to let his belt go without a war. He’s looking for the kill-switch, and Ryohei needs to be careful not to get too comfortable in this rhythm.”

Round two ends decisively in Ryohei’s favor on the scorecards, but as Umemoto walks back, there is no defeat in his eyes, only the cold predatory focus of a man who has finally found the scent.

Sera senses the looming danger, which is why he remains stone-faced despite Ryohei’s dominant performance. There is no celebration in the blue corner, only a clinical, urgent focus.

“Good job out there,” Sera says, his voice low and sharp. “You’ve dragged the fight exactly where we planned. But don’t get comfortable. You’re up against a champion.”

“I know,” Ryohei replies, his chest heaving slightly. “After the first counter, there’s no longer surprise in his face, like he was expecting it. I’m sure he’ll come with an answer soon.”

***

In Round 3, the momentum shifts with the suddenness of a car crash.

Umemoto launches his explosive entry again. Ryohei, still confident in his trap, changes the beat and counters with his fast one-two. The jab lands clean, but as Ryohei throws the cross, the world explodes.

Umemoto actually forces his way through the impact, whipping a vicious left hook that ignores the incoming cross, and force for a dual exchange.

Dsh!

Bam!

Umemoto’s head knocks back from the cross, while Ryohei’s head snaps violently to the side from the hook. Both men are momentarily stunned, their feet dragging on the canvas.

“A massive trade! Both fighters took heavy fire!” the lead commentator explodes.

“What a way to start the round,” the co-commentator says. “Umemoto’s stopped trying to out-think Ryohei and started trying to break him!”

Ryohei’s vision blurs for a heartbeat.

“Damn… He didn’t care about the counter.”

“He just wanted to beat me.”

Umemoto recovers first. He doesn’t give Ryohei an inch to breathe, smothering him instantly. He kills the pendulum rhythm by forcing a chest-to-chest brawl.

“The fight turns white-hot!”

“It’s a savage raw, rhythm that belongs entirely to the champion.”

Ryohei holds his ground, but he is forced into a desperate shell, busier defending than returning fire. Every time Ryohei tries to create space, Umemoto clings to him with terrifying agility, unleashing a barrage of punches that look more like a street fight than boxing.

Dsh! Dug. Bugh! Dsh!

Dug. Dug. Thud! Bugh! Dug. Dsh!

No setups, no jabs, just two heavy hands powered by years of violent experience, hammering away at Ryohei’s ribs and guard.

As Ryohei struggles to claw his way out of the suffocating pressure, Sera’s frantic voice pierces through the roar of the crowd.

“Stay calm, Ryohei! Don’t just run! Read him! Fire something back!”

Ryohei responds in kind. He stops retreating and plants his feet firmly into the canvas, bracing for the storm.

He narrows his vision, enduring the thudding impacts against his ribs and arms, waiting for the split-second windows between Umemoto’s wild swings.

He begins to slip in sharp short-range counters, stiff hooks and uppercuts that bite back through the chaos.

The fight ignites into a vicious slugfest. The heat in the ring becomes so intense that the entire EDION Arena erupts into a frenzy.

It’s no longer a game of chess; it’s a battle of attrition. And Sera doesn’t look too comfortable with it. If this keeps up, Ryohei will lose his ground.

“Keep it compact, Ryohei!” Sera screams again. “Stay compact!”

Ryohei follows the instruction to the letter. He stops trying to match Umemoto’s raw power with equal force. Instead, he makes his punches compact and fast, short-circuiting Umemoto’s wide swings.

By shortening his arc, Ryohei begins to land cleaner, stinging shots that snap Umemoto’s head back and disrupt his relentless momentum.

The champion’s rhythm begins to stutter, his reckless barrage losing its cohesive edge.

Sadly, this momentum doesn’t last long.

Ding! Ding!

The bell suddenly rings, and the referee dives between them, physically prying the two warriors apart. Both men are breathing like steam engines, their skin flushed and slick with sweat.

“What a round! That was absolute madness!” the lead commentator explodes, his voice hoarse from shouting. “I don’t even know who to give that round to! It was a total war of wills!”

“The champion has officially dragged Ryohei into the trenches,” the co-commentator gasps. “That peaceful tactical game from the first round is dead and buried. Umemoto has successfully reclaimed the fight, turning this into the brutal brawl he wanted. Ryohei survived the onslaught, but the momentum has shifted violently back to the red corner!”

As the referee gestures them toward their corners, the physical toll of that three-minute war becomes painfully visible. Both men carry the marks of the slugfest; their faces are beginning to puff, skin reddened and bruised under the harsh arena lights.

But the difference in their body language is staggering. Umemoto walks back with a terrifying, predatory steadiness. In contrast, Ryohei looks every bit like a man who has just escaped a wreckage.