VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Just before six in the morning, the sky above the neighborhood is still pale and quiet, the first light of dawn slowly pushing away the darkness.

In the exterior corridor of the apartment building, Aramaki is already there.

Like every morning, he begins with a series of stretches before starting his roadwork. He rolls his shoulders, loosens his arms, then bends slowly at the waist, holding each stretch for several seconds while the cool air fills his lungs.

It is a routine he rarely breaks. Usually, either he finds Ryoma already waiting outside, or he arrives first and waits for Ryoma to come out.

This morning, however, the door to Ryoma’s apartment remains closed.

After nearly half an hour of light stretching and jogging in place, the sky above the narrow street has already grown noticeably brighter. A faint orange line now rests along the edge of the rooftops.

Aramaki glances down at his watch. “That’s unusual…” he mutters under his breath. “He’s never this late.”

He scratches the back of his head. By this time, they should normally already be halfway through their run toward the Tama river.

But there is still no sign of Ryoma coming out of his apartment. Aramaki exhales quietly and eventually walks over to the apartment door.

He raises his hand toward the doorbell, hesitating for a moment.

“Should be awake by now…” he mutters.

But before his finger can press the bell, footsteps echo from the stairway.

Aramaki turns his head and finds Ryoma appearing from below, climbing the exterior stairs with steady steps. His training shirt is already soaked with sweat. Dark patches spread across the fabric, and his hair sticks damply to his forehead.

Even in the cool morning air, sweat continues to bead and slide down his neck.

Aramaki blinks. “Wait… what?”

His eyes move slowly from Ryoma’s shoes to his drenched shirt.

“You already went running?”

Ryoma steps onto the corridor, breathing steadily as he wipes sweat from his temple with the back of his hand.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

Aramaki stares at him for another moment, processing that. “You’re serious? You did roadwork before I even got here?”

“Something like that,” Ryoma says, his breathing still heavy from the run.

Aramaki leans his shoulder against the wall, folding his arms. “How far?”

Ryoma pulls the key from his pocket. “Ten.”

Aramaki whistles under his breath, and shakes his head with a small grin.

“And I’ve been standing here like an idiot for thirty minutes.”

Ryoma slides the key into the lock. Before he can open the door, Aramaki clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“If you still want to run,” Ryoma says, “you can do roadwork with the others later.”

“That’s not the point,” Aramaki mutters, clearly unhappy.

Ryoma leans halfway into the apartment and raises his voice. “Mom, I’m leaving for the gym.”

No answer comes from inside, but Ryoma doesn’t need it. He simply pulls the door shut again and gestures toward the stairs.

“Let’s go.”

They begin walking down the steps together. And Aramaki is still grumbling.

“You know what this means, right?” he says. “I missed the run to the Tama River. That’s one roadwork gone for me. Feels like you’re cheating.”

Ryoma keeps walking along the quiet morning street. “If you hate falling behind that much, then I won’t do the morning roadwork with the others today.”

Aramaki snorts. “Yeah, great. While I’m out there running, you’ll still be in the gym training by yourself.”

“It’s not like I have as much stamina as you do,” Ryoma says. “Besides… I don’t feel so good today. Told you I couldn’t sleep.”

That finally makes Aramaki look at him more closely. The last time Ryoma had trouble sleeping like this was before his fight with Jade McConnel. Remembering that, Aramaki becomes certain something must be bothering him now.

“Speaking of that,” he says after a moment, “where were you after the gym yesterday?”

Ryoma keeps walking without answering immediately.

“Everyone’s worrying, you know,” Aramaki adds.

“I’m not a kid,” Ryoma replies flatly. “You don’t have to worry just because I went somewhere for a few hours.”

“Going somewhere is one thing,” Aramaki says. “But you even sparred five rounds with Kenta after that insane training session yesterday. Everyone thought you went straight home after.”

Ryoma stays silent, but the fatigue from yesterday still weighing heavily on his body and dulling his mood, leaving him with little patience for conversation this morning.

Aramaki continues. “Then the old man from the coffee shop said he saw you getting into a van with some foreigners. So yeah. Of course we were worried.”

Ryoma suddenly stops walking. His expression changes slightly. “Wait, when you came looking for me… did you tell my mom that foreigners took me into a van?”

Aramaki turns toward him, squinting. “What? Were you really kidnapped or something?”

“Did you tell my mom?” Ryoma repeats, his tone now serious.

Aramaki shakes his head immediately. “I know your mom’s situation. No way I’d tell her something like that.”

He scratches his cheek. “But she did try calling you using Kaori’s phone. Your number couldn’t be reached. I even texted you earlier before I left for roadwork, but the message never delivered.”

Aramaki looks at him again. “Seriously, Ryoma. Did something happen?”

Ryoma exhales slowly. “About that… Those gaijin broke my phone.”

Aramaki’s face twists in disbelief. “So it’s true? You were kidnapped by some foreigners? What did they want from you? How did you escape? Did you fight them yourself?”

Ryoma falls silent for a moment. He considers whether he should tell Aramaki the truth about the meeting, the money, and the men in the hotel.

But the thought of Aramaki’s family, and the kind of danger those people represent, makes him hesitate.

In the end, Ryoma shakes his head slightly. “They were just gamblers. They lost money betting on our event at Yoyogi.”

Aramaki frowns. “And they blamed you for that?”

“Yeah,” Ryoma replies calmly. “They wanted me to pay them back.”

Aramaki looks confused. “So what did you do?”

Ryoma resumes walking toward the gym.

“I paid them,” he says. “With my fists.”

***

When he arrives at the gym, the familiar smell of sweat and rubber mats fills the air. The place is still quiet this early in the morning.

Kenta is already there, stretching near the ring with one leg propped against the ropes. Across the room, Hiroshi stands in front of the whiteboard, scribbling something while muttering to himself.

Both of them turn their heads, and for a brief second, their eyes linger on Ryoma. Yesterday had been strange after all. He had disappeared without a word, and no one could reach him.

But now that he is standing there in front of them, the tension fades just as quickly. Nothing serious needs to be said.

Kenta simply nods once before returning to his stretches. Hiroshi erases something on the board and continues writing.

Aramaki walks over and drops beside Kenta, starting his own warm-ups. “Guess I’ll just wait for the others,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders.

Ryoma had already said he wouldn’t join. So he simply heads toward the small managerial office. Inside, Nakahara and Kurogane are already there. Both of them look unusually serious, leaning over a laptop while something fills the screen.

“Morning,” Ryoma says.

Nakahara looks up. “Oh, you’re here?” he says. “Thought you were kidnapped by some gaijin after leaving the gym yesterday.”

Ryoma raises an eyebrow. “What? You were worried about me?”

“Why would I worry about you?” Nakahara scoffs.

He simply turns back toward the laptop while Kurogane continues typing.

“If there’s someone I should worry about, it’s the people stupid enough to try something with you.”

Ryoma lets out a small chuckle. The gesture carries a hint of cockiness, quiet confidence showing through. But he says nothing, and the faint grin on his face fades almost as quickly as it appeared.

He just stands there for a moment, watching them work. The screen is filled with documents and drafts, clearly something related to his next match.

His expression remains flat. But inside, his thoughts begin racing again.

The incident with the Frenchman last night had everything to do with boxing. Normally, this is exactly the kind of situation he would share with Nakahara without hesitation.

Yet for some reason, the words refuse to come out.

The memory of that night from his previous life presses heavily on his mind again. The bar, the betting ticket in his hand, the two gunshots that ended everything.

Even now, the sensation of those bullets striking his chest lingers somewhere deep inside him.

So he stays quiet. For now, he decides to wait. At least until he understands the situation more clearly.

One thing he did learn from the Frenchman is that a representative from Aleksandr Volkov’s camp will come to speak about a WBA title fight.

Ryoma still doesn’t know whether those men from last night have any connection to Volkov’s side.

Or whether Volkov’s camp truly intends to give him that opportunity.

Until he knows for sure, he keeps the matter to himself.