VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Aramaki sits on the stool in the blue corner, elbows resting lightly on his thighs, breathing steady through his nose. Sweat gathers along his collarbone but nothing about him looks distressed.

There’s no swelling, no urgency whatsoever. Only two clean jabs landed, nothing more.

Sera watches him closely while Coach Murakami squeezes water into his mouth. Aramaki rinses briefly, jaw working once, then leans forward and spits into the bucket with a hollow splash.

The first round had been awkward, too much distance, too much hesitation. And Sera can’t simply ignore it.

But Aramaki’s breathing is steady. His eyes are focused. There is no sign of frustration or doubt in his posture.

Perhaps he is simply being cautious, Sera thinks. It is not every day you share the ring with a former champion.

“So,” Sera says lightly, “what’s your impression of our former champion?”

He presses the enswell lightly against Aramaki’s cheek, more out of routine than necessity.

“He smacked your face twice out there,” Sera adds with a small smile. “How did it feel?”

Aramaki exhales softly. “He’s very good.”

There’s a short pause before he continues. “Sometimes it feels like I’m fighting Ryoma.”

Sera’s brow shifts slightly. “In what way?”

“Not his style,” Aramaki says. “But the way he tests me. The calmness. It feels like he’s not trying to win yet. Like he wants to know what I’m thinking before he decides anything.”

Sera considers that. And yes, there is something similar in the approach. The patience, the silent gathering of information.

“He does have that habit,” Sera admits. “And he’s good at adjusting once he understands the pattern.”

“He’s composed,” Aramaki continues. “No wasted movement. His punches are sharp. Clean. They always find me.” Then he touches his cheek lightly. “That last counter surprised me. But it wasn’t heavy.”

“Don’t misunderstand that,” Sera says immediately. “He can punch hard. He just prefers angle and precision, disrupts rhythm first, breaks your form. And he’ll hit hard when you stop expecting it.”

Silence settles for a moment as Aramaki replays the round in his mind. Then he chuckles under his breath, feeling silly with himself.

“I thought I could play it safe,” he says. “Stretch it out. Maybe win on points late.”

Suddenly, Sera’s expression changes. He glances briefly at Hiroshi and Murakami before looking back at Aramaki. The softness leaves his voice.

“You’re serious?”

Aramaki forces a small laugh. “I just wanted to help.”

“Help?” Sera’s jaw tightens. “You’re fighting a former champion. And you’re thinking about delaying the fight because Arman Sargsyan isn’t here yet? You are underestimating your opponent too much.”

“I’m not underestimating him,” Aramaki says quickly. “I just…”

“You think if you fight normally, you’ll finish him too early?” Sera cuts in. “You’re afraid of ending this too fast? Who do you think you are?”

Aramaki lowers his gaze but says nothing. Before Sera can continue the sermon, the official’s voice cuts across the ring.

“Seconds out.”

Aramaki raises and Hiroshi immediately pulls the stool away. Murakami steps back through the ropes. The bucket is cleared aside.

Sera remains on the apron a moment longer, one hand gripping the top rope. He looks at Aramaki carefully.

“Stop thinking about things that aren’t in front of you,” he says evenly. “Fight the way you fight.”

Aramaki nods once, rolling his shoulders once before turning toward the center of the ring.

Across the canvas, Rikiya is still listening to Coach Okada, who leans over the top rope, finishing his adjustments.

“Watch the second round,” Okada says quietly. “If he keeps that distance, fine. But don’t assume it’s confusion. It could be preparation. We never know what kind of trap they are setting up this time.”

Rikiya nods. “Understood.”

“Don’t rush. Let him show you,” Okada says before dropping from the apron.

Rikiya turns his attention back to Aramaki and loosens his arms slowly, expression unchanged.

***

The energy in the arena shifts before either fighter moves. Near the red corner, Rikiya’s supporters rise first. Their applause is sharper now, more confident after the clean counter that closed the previous round.

“That’s it, Rikiya!”

“Keep the timing!”

“Push him this round!”

Their voices carry rhythm rather than volume. They believe control has already been established.

Across the arena, the mood is different. Local fans who followed Aramaki’s climb through the domestic ranks lean forward in their seats, impatience creeping into their calls.

“Aramaki, get serious!”

“I know you are better than this.”

“Don’t be afraid of him!”

The words are not hostile, but urgent. They have seen him walk opponents down before. They have seen him impose himself. What they saw in the first round does not match that memory.

Finally, the bell for round two rings.

Ding!

At ringside, the first commentator clears his throat as both fighters step out from their corners.

“Well,” he says, “we’re about to see whether that first round was caution or calculation.”

The analyst nods beside him. “Aramaki fought unusually long. That’s not typically where he builds his offense. The question is whether that was adjustment… or hesitation.”

“And Miyamoto,” the first adds, “looked comfortable waiting. He didn’t overcommit. He punished one clean entry and left it there.”

“That’s veteran discipline,” the analyst replies. “But patience cuts both ways. If you wait too long, you give a pressure fighter time to find rhythm.”

The referee gestures both men forward. Rikiya walks out first, steps measured, guard relaxed but aligned. Aramaki follows, posture upright, eyes fixed ahead.

***

They close the distance at center ring, and Aramaki’s adjustment is immediately evident.

He’s no longer bouncing on the balls of his feet. His guard is tight, ready to absorb incoming punches. The pendulum rhythm remains, only smaller now, mostly in his lead foot sliding back and forth.

Rikiya senses it instantly; the intensity, the pressure, the feeling that this fight could turn ugly at any moment.

He shifts angle first, stepping to the side, and throws a jab, testing the water.

Dug.

It meets Aramaki’s glove.

In the same instant, Aramaki steps in, guard still tight, moving deeper with one long stride, trying to seize the moment as Rikiya pulls his left back.

Rikiya reads it immediately.

“He’s coming…”

Before Aramaki can set his footing, Rikiya fires a compact rear hook to deny the entry, aimed at Aramaki’s low crouch.

Aramaki shifts his left guard, protecting the side of his head…

Dug.

…and follows with a right hook to the body.

But Rikiya also shifts his guard in time, blocking with his left arm…

Dug.

…and then catches Aramaki’s shoulder with his right, pivots, and disengages, securing space before Aramaki can continue his combination.

But he doesn’t step away far, just enough to avoid Aramaki, but close enough to…

Dsh!

…catch Aramaki’s face with a crisp jab.

“Wow! That was sudden!” the first commentator shouts, leaning forward. “A flurry of exchanges and then Miyamoto snaps a jab through. Perfectly timed!”

The analyst nods, eyes scanning the ring. “Aramaki tried to assert control with that step-in, but Miyamoto’s defense is sharp. He blocks, pivots, and punishes the gap without overcommitting. That’s textbook veteran awareness.”

“Exactly,” the first replies. “And notice the distance, neither is giving anything away. That one jab could’ve set up something bigger, but Rikiya read it instantly. Round two is already showing the danger these two can generate in mere seconds.”