VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Meanwhile, back in the cramped office of Nakahara’s Gym, the mood sits in a tight suspension, shaped by exhaustion from training and the uneasy anticipation of what Kurogane has been reading for the past several minutes. It is around 7:30 in the evening, and none of them have moved as if leaving would break whatever is about to be decided in this room.

Ryoma remains on the sofa, leaning forward slightly, his gaze angled away from the desk rather than toward it, as if he’s listening more than watching. Sera sits across from him in silence, observing Kurogane instead, while Hiroshi remains on a stool at the corner of the room, unusually still and focused.

Coach Nakahara is seated in front of his desk, arms crossed over his chest, calm in posture but clearly waiting, his eyes fixed on Kurogane without interruption.

Kurogane sits in Nakahara’s chair behind the desk, staring at the screen for a long moment longer than necessary.

For a while, only the faint sound of the computer and Kurogane’s scrolling breaks the silence.

Then Kurogane mutters “…They said it was a success.”

He speaks as if repeating something that should have been simple. But his tone doesn’t match the words. His eyes stay on the monitor as he repeats it more quietly, almost dismissively now.

“Success…” Then he shakes his head slightly. “No. This isn’t a success event.”

Ryoma’s face sharpens immediately at that, his attention locking onto Kurogane with suspicion, as if the first explanation that comes to mind is that something has been done wrong on the other side.

Nakahara reacts differently. He rises slowly from his chair and moves behind Kurogane, leaning in to look directly at the monitor. As he reads, his expression changes as well, quiet disbelief forming on his face.

Ryoma finally stands up. His voice comes out direct, edged with accusation. “Are they messing with this? Did Alvarez’s side try to trick us?”

Kurogane does not look away from the screen. He only shakes his head slowly. “No.” Then, after a pause, his voice drops slightly. “This isn’t just a success event. This is…”

He stops again, and slowly, he turns his head toward Ryoma. “…the total payment… coming from Alvarez’s side to us… 3.7 million dollars.”

For a moment, the room does not respond. Sera’s expression is the first to change, his eyes widening slightly before he manages to contain it. Hiroshi remains still, the weight of the number landing without movement.

Nakahara stays behind Kurogane, silent, his eyes still fixed on the screen as if confirming the numbers himself.

Ryoma just stares at Kurogane, his expression sharpening, not in relief, not in disbelief alone, but in something more controlled, as if he is already measuring what this means beyond the number itself.

“…I thought we’d get at least a million from that investment,” he mutters. “But 3.7 million dollars… is this even real? You didn’t misread anything, right?”

Kurogane finally looks up from the screen properly. His fingers move again, pulling details back up, scrolling through lines of numbers and breakdowns. His expression is still tense, but now more focused than confused.

“The gate share is exactly what we expected,” he says, pointing at the figures as he speaks. “Sold out arena, last-week price surge, all of that checks out.”

He scrolls again, stopping at a different section. “But the biggest part… is this. Broadcasting from Japan alone, 1.7 million dollars.”

That lands differently. Sera lets out a short, disbelieving laugh under his breath, like his body can’t decide whether to take it seriously or not.

He pushes himself forward from his seat, then suddenly reaches out and pats Ryoma hard on the back, laughing louder now.

“You hear that?” Sera says, still laughing. “You basically forced them into giving us one hundred percent of the broadcast revenue in Japan.”

Ryoma’s expression shifts instantly into something lighter, almost proud, almost childish. “I know, right,” he says, a grin forming as he straightens slightly, like he’s accepting credit without hesitation.

Sera keeps laughing, still patting his back, before turning his attention forward again.

“What about international streaming?”

Kurogane exhales once, then answers without looking away from the numbers.

“Seven hundred thousand.”

That quiets Sera just for a moment as he processes it.

“So that means…” he mutters, “International broadcasting is still lower than Japan alone.”

He shakes his head slightly, half amused, half impressed, then looks back at Ryoma and gives his back another firm pat.

“Kid… You really did something with that deal.”

Nakahara lets out a quiet breath through his nose, almost a scoff, though there’s something like reluctant approval underneath it.

“Three point seven million dollars,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly. “All that from a two hundred and thirty thousand investment just to cover undercard purses. Nothing else.”

His eyes shift toward Kurogane, more thoughtful now. “I hope they don’t start hating us because of this.”

Kurogane finally leans back from the screen. “No. They’re not. Alvarez actually told me himself this is the biggest achievement of his entire career. He said he’s happy to do another collaboration in the future.”

Sera nods at that, still half-smiling from earlier. “That makes sense,” he says. “The Japan broadcast revenue alone might be the biggest chunk, but they still keep all their local broadcast income too.”

Kurogane glances back at the screen once more, scrolling down, confirming the overall picture again. “Even after everything they spent on the event, I can picture their side still walking away with more than one million dollars net profit.”

Hiroshi stays quiet for a while after Kurogane’s last words, still smiling faintly, but the expression slowly loses its lightness as the numbers settle more deeply in his mind.

There’s satisfaction there, real satisfaction, but it’s mixed with something more reflective now. Then he exhales through his nose, nodding once to himself.

“…This is bigger than anything we’ve done in the event business,” he begins. “And yes, we didn’t even carry the production or promotion side. We just invested and let Alvarez’s team run it.”

His eyes shift toward Ryoma, then briefly toward Nakahara, measuring the weight of what that actually means. Then his smile fades completely, being replaced by something heavier.

“But that doesn’t mean we don’t have any contribution to this achievement. Ryoma nearly lost his life during that training camp incident. And I strongly believe… that incident played the biggest part in selling this event.”

The atmosphere in the room changes immediately. The lightness that had started to build around Sera disappears first. Ryoma’s grin fades without him noticing it happening. Kurogane stops looking at the screen. Even Nakahara’s expression tightens slightly, the calm in his posture taking on a different weight.

No one argues Hiroshi, because no one needs to. The realization sits there on its own. The scale of the income they just saw is not only proof of success, but also proof of how much value Ryoma’s name, his image, and even his danger now carry in this business.

And with that comes something none of them ignore for long, that this level of attention does not exist without consequences.

Ryoma’s rise is no longer just something being watched. It is something being measured. And somewhere beyond this room, beyond this single success, it becomes clear without anyone saying it out loud. Those who tried to stop him before will not stop now.

***

Nakahara moves slowly, stepping away from the desk before lowering himself back into the chair in front of it. The earlier discussion about money and scale doesn’t leave the room, but it stops being the center of it the moment he sits down.

His expression has shifted into something quieter, more reflective, as if the numbers have pulled something else into memory.

His gaze drifts downward for a moment before he speaks, voice low and steady. “For a while now,” Nakahara begins, “I’ve been worrying about Kenta’s situation. He hasn’t spoken much since that loss. For a fighter, disappointment after a defeat is normal. But Kenta…”

Nakahara pauses briefly, hands resting loosely in his lap. “He had already considered hanging up his gloves once before.”

A short silence follows as his eyes tighten. “He changed his mind after moving out of his parents’ house and staying at my apartment. He was trying to rebuild himself. But then, without saying anything to me, not even to his parents, he went back home. Right after we returned from the Philippines.”

Nakahara finally looks up. His gaze shifts from Hiroshi to Sera, then settles briefly in the space between them, weighing something heavier than just one fighter’s career.

“I’m afraid he’s considering hanging up his gloves for the second time.”

The room doesn’t react immediately in words, but the atmosphere tightens again, the earlier weight of success now sitting beside something more fragile.

Nakahara turns his attention fully to Ryoma now. His voice stays calm, but it carries something sharper underneath.

“And he’s not stupid,” he says. “He knows your situation is one of the reasons they took that fight away from him.”