VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

For a brief moment, Kenta feels the urge to turn around and leave, as if it would be easier to walk away now before anything settles into something heavier. The thought lingers just long enough to take shape, until a voice calls out from inside.

“Kent? Is that you?”

Kenta blinks, and just like that, his expression shifts. The tension that had been sitting quietly in his chest softens, replaced by something warmer, something closer to relief.

Moriyama exhales lightly and steps back, opening the door wider as he gestures for Kenta to come in.

“Go on,” he says, his tone still flat, but less closed than before. “Come inside and see your mother. She’s been asking about you lately. Quite a lot.”

Kenta hesitates for only a second before stepping in. The air inside feels familiar in a way that settles deeper than expected, carrying traces of a place he hasn’t allowed himself to think about too often.

He barely reaches the hallway when his mother appears, moving toward him with careful urgency.

“Kenta?” she calls softly, her hands already reaching out.

She finds him easily, touching his arms, his shoulders, as if reassuring herself that he’s really there, before her fingers move gently up to his face.

“How are you, son? Are you doing well?”

Kenta exhales, his voice softer than it has been all day. “I’m doing fine. Coach Nakahara’s been taking good care of me.”

Her hands linger for a moment before she pulls back slightly, her brows knitting together. “You feel a little thinner,” she says, concern slipping through.

Kenta lets out a small breath, almost a quiet laugh. “I’ve got a fight coming up. I need to keep my weight in check.”

She nods slowly, accepting the answer even if it doesn’t ease her concern completely. “I see… I see.” Then, gently, she takes his arm and guides him further inside. “Come, sit. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

Kenta shakes his head. “No, Mom. I need to stay disciplined with my meals right now.”

She sighs softly but doesn’t press Kenta, leading him into the living room instead. They take their seats, the space feeling both unchanged and strangely smaller than he remembers.

Moriyama follows them in, picking up the TV remote as he passes. Without saying anything, he lowers the volume before sitting down as well, his expression still distant, though his presence no longer feels entirely closed off.

For a moment, the room settles into a quiet that isn’t quite comfortable, but no longer tense either.

Then hurried footsteps echo from upstairs, quick and uneven.

“Kenta-niichan! You’re back?”

Izumi appears almost immediately, rushing down with barely contained excitement before slowing just enough as he reaches the living room. His eyes light up as he looks at Kenta, taking him in like he’s been waiting to confirm this moment.

Kenta meets his gaze and gives a small nod, a faint smile forming without effort.

Izumi drops onto the seat beside him, still leaning forward slightly, his energy filling the space in a way that makes the room feel just a little more alive.

He even shifts closer, still studying Kenta like he’s afraid he might disappear again. “So… are you staying the night?” he asks, a little more cautiously this time. “Sorry, though… I kind of messed up your room. You should’ve told me if you were coming.”

Kenta shakes his head lightly. “It’s fine. I’m only stopping by for a bit.” He leans back slightly, glancing toward the door as if already aware of the time. “Besides… it wouldn’t be right leaving Coach Nakahara alone. He’s getting old.”

Suddenly, a quiet scoff from Moriyama cuts through the room, without him looking away from the television.

“Good to see you’re so considerate of your coach,” he says, his tone cool, edged. “Strange, though, how that doesn’t extend to your own mother.”

The air tightens almost instantly. Kenta’s expression stiffens, the warmth from moments ago fading just enough to be felt. Before the silence can settle too deeply, his mother gently steps in.

“It’s alright,” she says with a soft smile, easing the tension. “Nakahara-san’s place isn’t far from here, is it? There’s nothing to worry about. We’ve been doing just fine.”

Moriyama responds with a low hum, clearing his throat as he adjusts slightly in his seat, the television now little more than background noise.

Izumi quickly leans forward, pulling the conversation back. “So when are you leaving?” he asks, eyes bright again. Then, turning slightly, “That’s right, Mom… Kenta-niichan’s fighting in Manila. It’s for a title. If he wins, he comes back as Asia-Pacific champion.”

Their mother nods, her expression calm, almost serene as she listens. “That sounds important.”

Izumi turns back to Kenta immediately. “So… how much are tickets? I’m thinking of going. Someone’s gotta be there to cheer for you properly.”

“Manila is far, Izumi,” their mother cuts in gently. “Who would you go with? And what about your school?”

“It’s in December,” Izumi replies quickly. “Right during the year-end break, so it works out. I’ve been saving up too… though I might still need a little extra from you.”

Kenta clears his throat, drawing their attention. There’s a slight hesitation before he speaks, a hint of self-consciousness slipping through.

“Actually… that’s kind of why I came.” He glances between them. “I was thinking… maybe all of you could come. You, Mom… Dad… Izumi. Stay a couple of days. Think of it like a short trip.”

He pauses, then adds, “I’ll cover everything.”

His mother blinks softly. “A trip… to Manila?”

Moriyama lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath. “Cover everything?” he repeats, still not looking at him. “You come back after all this time and start talking about vacations overseas. Since when do you have that kind of money?”

Kenta straightens slightly. “I’ve done the math. It should be around three hundred thousand yen.”

“Only three hundred thousand,” Moriyama mutters, the word edged with quiet criticism. “You say that like it’s nothing. Like money just comes that easily to you.”

Kenta hesitates, then answers anyway. “I’m getting over four million yen for this fight.”

That one finally gets a reaction. Moriyama finally turns his head, looking at him properly for the first time. The surprise is there, brief but real, before it fades back into something more guarded.

“I know how boxing works,” he says after a moment. “It’s good you’re getting paid now. But that doesn’t mean it lasts. It’s not stable. Not monthly. Not even per fight.

His gaze hardens slightly. “If you win, maybe it continues. If you lose… or get injured… that money disappears fast. And there’s no guarantee you get another chance like this.”

The room grows quiet again, heavier this time. It isn’t just about the rejection. It’s the truth behind it, laid out plainly, something Kenta himself understands too well.

Kenta doesn’t respond immediately. And Moriyama simply turns back to the television, the faint sound of a commercial filling the space.

Kenta exhales, then speaks. “I know the risks,” he says, voice steady. “That’s why I’ve been saving. I got two million yen from the Yoyogi fight, and I haven’t touched it.”

He glances down briefly, then back up. “Coach Nakahara and the gym take care of everything I need. It makes it easier to save.”

He pauses, then adds, quieter but firm, “Ryoma too. He’s been thinking ahead for all of us. Not just me… Okabe, Ryohei, Aramaki, Satoru. He makes sure we’re not just fighting for now.”

Then, still seated, Kenta lowers his head slightly toward his father. “That’s why, I’m going to win this fight. And I’ll come back as champion.”

There’s a brief pause, like he’s still weighing his own resolve, before he speaks again, quieter this time.

“But… I think it would mean more if you were there,” he adds.

Moriyama stays silent for a moment before letting out another short, dry scoff.

“I thought leaving home would’ve made you tougher,” he says. “But you’re still the same. Still relying on others. Still asking for support.”

The words land harder than before. Kenta’s shoulders tense, disappointment flickering across his face despite himself.

The mother notices the shift in his face. But before it can linger, she places a gentle hand on Kenta’s thigh, her touch warm, grounding.

“Don’t take your dad’s words too seriously,” she says lightly, a hint of amusement in her tone. “I would love to go and support you in Manila. But we can’t.”

Kenta looks up. “Can’t? Why?”

She smiles, almost teasing now. “Your father already invited his friends. They’re planning to watch your fight here together. It wouldn’t be very nice to cancel that and fly off without them, would it?”

Kenta blinks. “Watch… here?”

The disappointment in his chest loosens, replaced by something unexpected.

He turns toward his father. And for a brief moment, their eyes meet. Moriyama’s expression shifts just slightly, the faintest hint of color rising to his cheeks before he looks away again, clearing his throat.

“I didn’t invite them,” he mutters. “They insisted.”