VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Shangri-La at the Fort, Manila.

By the time the van driven by Dizon rolls to a stop, the sky has already begun to shift into dusk, the fading light reflecting softly across the hotel’s towering glass façade.

The door slides open, and one by one they step out onto the pavement, their attention immediately drawn upward. No one speaks at first, all of them caught off guard by the building’s sheer scale.

The building rises in front of them in commanding lines, its glass exterior catching the last glow of the evening and holding it like a mirror. Subtle interior lights have already begun to come alive behind the panels, giving the entire structure a layered depth; half reflecting the outside world, half revealing the controlled calm within.

Okabe lets out a long breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” he says, his voice slipping into a quiet laugh. “This place is insane. Are we actually staying here?”

He takes a few steps forward, then stops again, staring up as if the height might’ve increased in the last second.

“This isn’t a hotel…” he says, then swallows hard. “This is a fucking palace.”

Ryohei clicks his tongue from behind him, folding his arms loosely. “Calm down. You’re acting like a kid who’s never seen a building before.”

Okabe glances back at him, still grinning. “Oh, I’ve seen buildings. Just not ones that make me feel poor the second I step out of a van.”

“That’s because you are,” Ryohei scoffs.

“Yeah, yeah,” Okabe mutters. “Still… I wouldn’t mind getting used to this.”

Ryohei shakes his head, already walking past him toward the entrance. “Try not to embarrass us on the way in.”

A moment later, a hotel staff approaches with a luggage trolley, already anticipating their arrival. Dizon raises a hand in acknowledgment, and the staff moves in smoothly.

Together, Dizon and Kurogane begin unloading the team’s bags from the van, passing them over as the staff arranges everything neatly on the trolley.

As the luggage is brought down from the van, Dizon steps closer to Kurogane, lowering his voice slightly.

“We’ve arranged four rooms,” he says. “Two people per room. I hope you understand. Booking eight separate rooms would’ve been too heavy on our side.”

Kurogane glances at him, then gives a small nod. “That’s not a problem. Honestly, even two rooms would’ve been enough. Four people each, as long as it’s safe and comfortable. What matters is that the athletes can train and rest properly.”

Dizon lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “I wish it worked like that. But this place doesn’t allow that. Standard rooms are capped at two. If we wanted four in one room, we’d have to book their top-tier suites.”

A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “And that would cost even more.”

***

The moment they step into the lobby, the atmosphere remains composed and controlled.

But then something shifts, subtle and almost imperceptible. A few staff members glance up. Their eyes linger on Ryoma a fraction longer than they should before snapping back into place, posture straightening, expressions smoothing over into practiced professionalism.

No one says anything, no one steps out of line. But the recognition is there. Even in this foreign country, they know who Ryoma Takeda is.

Dizon steps forward and handles the check-in, speaking quietly with the receptionist while documents are verified and room assignments are processed.

Ryoma stands slightly off to the side, hands in his pockets, expression neutral, eyes drifting across the lobby without much interest.

Behind the counter, one of the receptionists keeps stealing glances at him.

She hesitates, her fingers tighten slightly around the key cards she’s holding. One of her coworkers notices, nudging her lightly under the counter, whispering something that sounds like a warning.

But after exhaling once, the girl steps forward anyway. “Excuse me…” she says, her voice careful, but just a little too soft to hide the nerves. “Are you… Ryoma Takeda?”

Ryoma looks at her, then gives a small nod. “Yeah.”

Her eyes light up despite herself. “I… I’m a fan. Would it be okay if… we take a photo together?”

Behind her, two other receptionists exchange quick glances.

“That’s bold…” one of them whispers.

“What is she doing…?” the other murmurs. “That moron. People like him value privacy…”

But Ryoma simply shrugs. “Sure.”

The tension breaks instantly. The girl’s face brightens, and she quickly steps out from behind the counter, handing her phone to a nearby colleague. She stands beside him, a little stiff at first, then relaxes just enough as the photo is taken.

“Thank you so much!” she says, bowing her head slightly.

Ryoma just nods once. “No problem.”

There’s a brief pause. Then suddenly…

“Wait, can we take a photo too?”

The two receptionists who were whispering earlier step forward almost at the same time, their earlier restraint gone.

“Just one photo… please!”

“Just one!”

The shift is immediate, and far less subtle. Ryoma glances at them, then lets out a quiet breath through his nose.

“Fine.”

And just like that, the line between professionalism and fandom blurs completely for a moment, right in the middle of the pristine, controlled lobby.

From a few steps away, Ryohei watches the scene unfold, his expression tightening just slightly.

“…I’m a champion too,” he mutters under his breath.

Okabe snorts and nudges his arm. “Yeah. A local champion. They barely know you here.”

Ryohei clicks his tongue, clearly annoyed, and doesn’t bother responding. Instead, he walks straight toward Ryoma to pull him away from the small crowd forming around him.

“Hey,” he mutters under his breath, voice low but firm. “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

Ryoma glances at him. “Doing what?”

“Photos,” Ryohei says, lowering his voice further. “What if they post that online? People will know we’re staying here. And then what? Another problem?”

“Relax,” Kurogane says as he walks past them with a hotel staff member already leading the way toward the elevators. “No one’s going to disturb us here.”

***

The elevator ride is quiet, with the polished interior reflecting tired faces staring back at themselves. When the doors open, they’re guided down a carpeted hallway lined with identical doors.

The staff member stops in the hallway and unlocks two adjacent rooms on one side, then moves across to open another two directly opposite them.

“These will be your rooms,” he says politely. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact the front desk. We hope you have a comfortable stay.”

With a slight bow, he steps back, waiting just long enough to ensure there are no immediate requests.

Inside, the rooms open into a space that feels immediately different from the villa.

Cool, controlled air. Soft lighting. Clean lines. The beds are wide and perfectly made, the sheets crisp, the pillows arranged with quiet precision.

Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the fading glow of the city outside, now slipping fully into night. Every detail feels deliberate, designed not just for comfort, but for recovery.

Okabe steps in first. “…Oh, this is dangerous,” he mutters.

Ryohei follows behind him, glances once around the room, then grabs a pillow without warning and hurls it straight at Okabe’s face. The pillow hits clean.

“Hey…!”

Okabe stumbles back, then immediately grabs another and throws it back. Within seconds, the two of them are fully engaged in a childish, completely unnecessary pillow fight.

Out in the hallway, Kurogane doesn’t even bother reacting. “Kenta, you’re with Coach Nakahara. Aramaki with Ryoma.”

Kenta and Aramaki nod, too tired to argue, their movements slower now as the fatigue settles back in. They step into their respective rooms without a word.

The staff member gives one last polite nod. “Enjoy your stay.”

Then he turns and walks away, his footsteps fading quietly down the corridor. For a moment, the hallway falls silent again.

Hiroshi takes a moment to look around first, his eyes moving along the hallway, noting the placement of the surveillance cameras mounted discreetly along the ceiling. He gives a small, approving nod to himself before turning slightly toward Ryoma.

“How did you even push Alvarez into giving us this kind of setup?”

Before Ryoma can answer, Kurogane steps in first with a short laugh.

“I told him things could escalate,” he says, a hint of smugness in his tone. “Mentioned the possibility of someone showing up with guns. That did the trick.”

Hiroshi blinks, clearly not buying it. “You’re serious? And he just… accepted that? Come on. The truck, the firecrackers… that’s already bad enough. But guns? Who the hell would go that far?”

Kurogane shrugs as he steps into his room. “Yeah, maybe I pushed it a bit. But it worked, didn’t it? And now we’re here.”

Hiroshi follows him inside, still unconvinced. “That’s insane… you really think someone’s crazy enough sending people with guns…”

Their voices fade as the door closes behind them, the conversation continuing out of sight.

Left in the hallway, Ryoma and Nakahara remain. They exchange a brief look, serious, quiet, unspoken. And unlike the others, they both know, that scenario isn’t hypothetical.

“You didn’t tell them… about that incident, right?” Nakahara asks.

Ryoma shakes his head once. And without another word, he steps into the room Aramaki had already entered.

Nakahara remains where he is. For a moment longer, his gaze lingers on Ryoma’s back. Something unsettled flickers beneath his expression, quiet but persistent.

Once Ryoma closes the door behind him, Nakahara exhales slowly, and then walks into the room Kenta had taken.

For the first time since they landed three days ago, they might finally find a moment of peace in Manila. Though no one can say how long that peace will last.