VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma doesn’t let go of the phone. His hand stays there, firm enough to stop it, careful enough not to escalate things further.

In his head, the outcome is already clear, once the police get involved, this stops being something he can control. Questions will come, and answers will lead to places he has no intention of exposing.

So he steadies himself, choosing his words more carefully, knowing he’ll have to guide this conversation somewhere safer, somewhere Nakahara will listen first, react later.

“How do you think I got out of there?”

Nakahara blinks, caught off guard, his expression tightening as he actually considers it.

“They just wanted to talk to me,” Ryoma continues. “Their boss… he was looking to make a deal. And the gun… that was just their way of making sure I didn’t walk off.”

“A deal?” Nakahara frowns. “What kind of deal?”

“They offered me money to lose,” Ryoma says evenly. “If I ever fight Aleksandr Volkov.”

Nakahara’s confusion deepens, his brows pulling together. “What kind of arrangement is that? That fight isn’t even confirmed…”

He stops, something clicking into place. His eyes narrow. “Wait. Don’t tell me… they’re connected to him? Volkov announced he’s interested in giving you a title shot for his WBA belt, and suddenly people show up trying to cut a deal?”

“Not necessarily,” Ryoma replies, shaking his head. “According to them, it’s about manipulating betting lines. I dominate for eight rounds, then lose on purpose. Make it look real.”

Nakahara says nothing, but his stare sharpens.

“They offered five million upfront,” Ryoma adds, his tone staying level. “And another five after the fight.”

Nakahara’s eyes widen despite himself, the number settling heavily in his mind, too large, too absurd, yet impossible to simply dismiss.

“…And you brought that money back with you?” he asks, slower now.

“Of course not,” Ryoma answers immediately. “I’m not that stupid. I know what I’m dealing with.”

Nakahara studies him for a second longer. “And they just let you walk away?”

Ryoma exhales. “Not exactly.”

“…Then what?”

“I managed to take a gun off one of them.”

Nakahara freezes, his expression shifting in an instant. “Don’t tell me you…”

“Well… I shot him,” Ryoma says, almost too casually. Then, after a beat, quieter, “That’s why I’m asking you not to involve the police.”

Nakahara leans forward, his voice dropping, tight with restraint. “You killed someone?”

“No,” Ryoma replies. “I shot his ass. That’s it. Let’s just hope it didn’t kill him.”

Before Nakahara can respond, Ryoma’s gaze shifts past him, briefly unfocused, and then sharp again.

“Hiroshi… he’s coming to this place.”

Nakahara looks back. Across the street, through the glass, Hiroshi steps out of the gym, weaving through passing cars before crossing toward the café. When he reaches the entrance, he doesn’t come in right away, just pushes the door open slightly and leans in.

“Coach, we just got a call. It’s Alvarez.”

The name lands immediately. Nakahara straightens, irritation from before giving way to something more alert.

“I’ve got him waiting,” Hiroshi adds. “Please, come quickly.”

Ryoma exhales quietly, then pushes his chair back. “We’ll continue this later,” he says, meeting Nakahara’s eyes. Please, don’t tell anyone about this.”

Then Nakahara clicks his tongue under his breath. “You don’t get to drop something like that and expect me to sit on it.”

“I know,” Ryoma replies. “I’m asking anyway.”

Hiroshi steps back to hold the door open wider as they approach, the noise of the street slipping back in, carrying them out before anything else can be said.

***

In the office, they carry a different kind of tension now.

Ryoma sits behind the desk, the phone placed in front of him with the speaker turned on, its faint static filling the space between words.

Across from him, Nakahara leans back in his chair, arms folded, eyes fixed and unreadable. Off to the side, Kurogane occupies the sofa, saying nothing, only listening, his presence solid but distant as the call connects.

A voice comes through, slightly distorted by the speaker, but clear enough.

[I’ve tried to negotiate with Dela Cruz. He’s interested in fighting Kenta Moriyama. That part, at least, is workable.]

Then there’s a brief pause, like he’s choosing how to phrase the rest.

[But he has conditions. He wants the event structured as a double main event. And… he’s asking for the same purse as you.]

Silence follows for a beat.

[I’ll be honest… That number is too high for me.]

[If you’re asking for 150.000 USD, and I have to pay my champion the same, that’s already 300.000 USD. Add Dela Cruz at that number, and Kenta, as the challenger, around 65.000…”

[That brings it to 515.000 dollars. Just for the purses. For a double main.]

The weight of it settles into the room.

[And that’s before everything else… venue, promotion, logistics. To be honest, I don’t have that kind of money sitting idle. And the risk… it’s too high.]

Ryoma stays quiet for a moment, weighing it, his eyes drifting briefly to the desk before settling again.

“You know I’m not alone in this,” he says at last, calm and measured. “I’ll need to discuss it first. I hope you can give me some time. I’ll get back to you later as soon as possible.”

[Alright, I’ll be waiting.]

The line clicks off, and the silence returns, heavier now with nothing coming from the speaker.

Ryoma leans back slightly and turns his attention to Nakahara, switching to Japanese as he begins to explain, summarizing the negotiation, the demands, and the numbers involved, laying it out clearly without embellishment.

Nakahara listens without interrupting, his expression tightening the further it goes, the scale of it settling in.

“Honestly, this is more or less what I expected,” Ryoma says, finishing.

Kurogane speaks immediately. “If they can’t handle the event, we do it ourselves. The 60 million yen you set aside, that’s enough to cover the initial costs. Same as before. We settle everything after the event.”

He leans back slightly, one arm resting along the back of the sofa. “And I’d say the odds are in our favor. There’s no reason we can’t repeat what we did in Yoyogi.”

No one responds right away. The idea hangs in the room, heavy but tempting. After a moment, Nakahara shifts his gaze to Ryoma.

“What do you think, kid?” he asks. “If you say we run it here, then we run it here.”

Ryoma slowly shakes his head, his eyes lowered, still deep in thought.

“At first… that was the plan,” he admits. “I set my purse high on purpose. Push them into a corner… so we could take over the event ourselves.”

He pauses, fingers tapping lightly once against the desk. “If that worked, we’d host it here. Ryohei could defend his title on the same card. Turn it into a triple title event.”

He trails off, his expression tightening slightly as he reconsiders it in real time.

Kurogane watches him, then cuts in, “The way you’re talking… sounds like you’ve got something else in mind.”

Ryoma nods once. “Lately, I’ve been thinking. The way we’ve been handling things… we’ve made a lot of enemies.”

Kurogane shrugs. “Given where you started, that was inevitable. You did what you had to do to compete. To not get ignored. Rivalries come with that. So does resentment.”

“Yeah,” Ryoma agrees. “But I’m starting to think it doesn’t always have to look like this.”

He leans back slightly, his gaze sharpening. “Look at the people trying to box me out on the global stage. They can do that because the promoters work together. There’s a system there, stable and coordinated. It works because they all benefit from it.”

Kurogane lets out a short chuckle. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to bend… Thinking about playing by their rules.”

Ryoma smirks faintly. “Never.”

“Then what are you proposing?” Kurogane asks.

“I think we need to start building something similar here,” Ryoma says. “In Japan. In the Asia-Pacific region. And to start… someone like Alvarez might be worth trusting.”

Nakahara narrows his eyes slightly. “So you want them to stay as the host for this event? And just drop Kenta’s title shot?”

“No,” Ryoma answers immediately. “I’m not cutting anyone out.”

He leans forward now, more decisive. “I’ll lower my purse. One hundred twenty thousand. That’s what Alvarez originally offered.”

Kurogane nods slowly. “That brings Villanueva and Dela Cruz down too. But not by much. I’m not sure they’ll take the risk even then.”

“That’s where we step in,” Ryoma replies. “We take part of that risk.”

Both of them look at him now.

“We cover Dela Cruz and Kenta,” he continues. “One hundred twenty thousand for Dela Cruz. Fifty thousand for Kenta. That’s roughly twenty million yen.”

He glances at Nakahara. “What do you think, old man?”

Nakahara’s expression hardens slightly. “You’re planning to just hand them twenty million yen?”

Ryoma shakes his head. “Not hand it over. Invest it. In return, we negotiate a share of the event revenue. We split the risk, and the upside. If it works, we’re not just making money…”

His gaze sharpens. “We’re building a relationship. One that gives us leverage in the Philippines going forward.”