VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Even after they step out of the building, with Nakahara still calling after him, Kenta keeps walking without once looking back.

The old man’s expression tightens, caught somewhere between irritation at being ignored, concern, and something closer to sympathy he doesn’t quite show.

He quickens his pace, trying to close the gap, his shorter stride forcing him into a half-run just to keep up.

“Hey, listen,” he calls out, voice rising just enough to cut through the noise. “I’m not forcing you to go see them. I was the one who told you to take a week to recover. But you came here… and now you’re leaving like this. That’s what bothers me.”

Kenta doesn’t answer. He doesn’t slow down either. And the difference in their steps makes it worse. Every time Nakahara gets close, Kenta’s longer stride pulls him away again, until the old man is practically chasing him, like a toddler trying to catch up to his dad.

“Kenta… if you’re angry at me, at least say it.”

That finally gets a response. “I’m not angry at you, old man.”

“Then stop ignoring me,” Nakahara says, reaching out and grabbing his arm from behind.

Kenta halts for a brief second, the contact stopping his momentum, but only for that moment. He pulls his arm free without force and continues walking.

“If you’re not mad at me…” Nakahara says, still chasing him, “then what is it? Ryoma?”

Kenta’s brow twitches, irritation surfacing again, but he still says nothing.

“I know it’s not fair for you,” Nakahara continues, keeping pace beside him now. “But you can’t put everything on Ryoma. He’s done a lot. For the gym, for me, for you… for all of us.”

Kenta finally stops, but only because he reaches the curb. His attention shifts, eyes moving across the street, scanning for a taxi more than listening to anything being said.

“Remember, Kenta…” Nakahara goes on. “If not for him, we’d still be stuck in that old gym, training without direction. Just sweating every day, waiting for chances that never come. He’s sacrificed a lot. He’s put his career on the line, even his life, to build something, not just for himself, but for every fighter in that gym.”

He exhales, voice lowering slightly. “And that draws enemies. Because what he’s building isn’t something people who exploit fighters want to see. You have to understand that.”

Kenta lets out a breath, then finally turns his head toward him. “I understand the situation,” he says. “But understanding it doesn’t change anything. I promised my dad I’d come back as a champion. I lost. And now that fruit shop is the only thing left for me.”

“So…” Nakahara stammers. “It’s your dad? I can try talking to him, make him understand.”

“It’s not about him,” Kenta says.

Nakahara frowns. “Then what is it?”

“My dad…” Kenta begins, “he’s not holding me back. He just wants what’s best for me. I’m almost twenty-eight now. I understand the risks that come with this sport. If I were a champion, with sponsors, I could bring home good money every fight. And even if I had to stop, I’d have something saved up. But I’m not in that position. I’m just an undercard fighter nobody knows. I can’t wait until my body breaks and only then start looking for a way out.”

Nakahara’s expression tightens. “You’re… thinking about retiring.”

“Yeah. Ever since that loss, I’ve already decided to hang up my gloves. But last night… Jackson Rhodes came to me.”

Nakahara’s breath catches, the color draining from his face. “Jackson… Rhodes?”

“Logan’s son,” Kenta says. “He wants to take me to America. Says he can make me a world champion within two years. And honestly… I can’t get that idea out of my head.”

“And… you’re going to accept it?” Nakahara asks, though the hesitation in his voice makes it clear what answer he’s hoping for.

But Kenta doesn’t respond. The silence lingers, and Nakahara takes it for what it feels like.

“Son…” Nakahara reaches for him, his fingers unsteady as they close around Kenta’s forearm. “You know what kind of man Jackson Rhodes is. You know that. He’s the one who took that fight away from you. And now you’re going to side with him?”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Kenta asks. “Go back to that gym and wait for them to sabotage my fights again? I know they don’t want to see Ryoma go any further than he already has. And as long as I stay under the management you built with him, they’ll come after me too.”

He exhales, his gaze drifting back toward the street. “This is the only reasonable way for me to stay in this sport. Otherwise… I retire for good and go back to that fruit shop.”

“No…” Nakahara shakes his head. “No, no, no… Kenta, you have to decline it. You need to understand, they just want to exploit you. Everything they’re offering you is a trap. The moment you sign with them, they’ll turn you into their slave. They might offer you money up front. Cars, houses… but all of it becomes debt. And they’ll force you to keep producing money for them until you pay it all back. And once you’re broken…”

A taxi suddenly pulls up right in front of them.

“Taxi?”

Kenta doesn’t answer. He simply opens the door, gets in, and tells the driver to go.

“Kenta, wait…” Nakahara rushes to the door, reaching for the handle.

But the taxi starts moving before he can grab it. His hand hits the back of the car instead, a dull slap against metal as he calls out again.

“Kenta!”

But the car is already pulling away.

Nakahara can only stand there, his face pale, watching it disappear into the street.

***

The next day, when Nakahara arrives at the gym, Ryoma and Aramaki are already waiting in front of the building.

Seeing the old man roll up on his electric scooter alone, Ryoma’s expression tightens.

“…Still no Kenta?” he asks.

Nakahara parks the scooter and steps off, pulling his keys out as he walks toward the door.

“I told him to take a week off,” he says, unlocking it. “And I told you two the same thing.”

Ryoma shrugs. “You know I came out of that fight without a scratch. And Aramaki finished his guy in one round.”

Nakahara doesn’t argue. He just opens the door and steps inside.

Ryoma and Aramaki follow behind him, heading straight for the heavy bag area. They’ve already finished their morning roadwork, their sweat-soaked sweaters clinging to their backs, their bodies warmed up and ready.

Nakahara pauses for a moment in front of his office door, glancing back at them, watching the two wrapping their hands, exchanging light jokes as if nothing is weighing on them.

He loves them like his own sons. And with someone like Ryoma around, he doesn’t have to worry about the future of the gym. But the issue with Kenta still lingers behind his mind.

Unlike Ryoma, Nakahara has known Kenta much longer, since he was still in junior high. It was Shimamura who brought him in. He watched the two of them grow, step by step, through every stage of this path.

Nakahara already lost Shimamura once, and he recently learned that Shimamura actually left for America with Logan Rhodes. And now Kenta, going to the same place, following Logan’s son.

For a moment, he tries to see it from a better angle. Maybe Kenta will be fine under them. Maybe it will turn out like Shimamura, who at least seems to be doing well lately. Maybe they’ll treat Kenta well too.

Nakahara exhales and reaches for the handle, about to step into his office. But then, the front door swings open. The sound cuts through the gym, drawing everyone’s attention.

Reika stands there. Behind her, Jackson Rhodes, his lawyer at his side, and two bodyguards built like bears trying to pass as men.

Ryoma moves immediately, stepping forward with clear hostility as soon as he sees that smug smile in Jackson’s face.

“What do you want, coming here?”

“Kid, watch your manners,” Nakahara says, cutting in before anything escalates. “They’re still guests. And I believe they came here for something important.”

Jackson strolls toward Nakahara, chin lifted, confidence written all over him. “Ah, yes… something very important. Something involving a million-dollar deal.”

“Is it about Kenta?” Nakahara asks.

Jackson’s smile widens. “So you already know.”

Nakahara steps aside and gestures toward the office. “Come in.”

Jackson turns slightly, signaling the two bodyguards to stay outside. He gives a small nod to his lawyer, and the two of them head inside.

Reika follows behind them. But before she can pass, Ryoma steps in and grabs her arm, his grip firm, his voice low and edged.

“What kind of trouble are you bringing this time?”

“No, Ryoma…” she says, holding back the discomfort in her arm. “I’m not here to cause trouble for the gym. I came to prevent my brother from creating one.”

“Ryoma,” Nakahara calls. “Let her go.

“But, old man…”

“And you get inside too,” Nakahara says, firmer this time.

Without waiting, Nakahara turns and walks into the office first.

After everyone settles into their seats, except Ryoma who remains standing off to the side, Jackson doesn’t waste a second. He reaches into his coat, pulls out a check, and places it flat on the coffee table between them.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he says, voice smooth, casual, like he’s discussing something routine. “I came here for Kenta Moriyama.”

His finger taps lightly on the check. “And like I said before… I’m offering one million dollars. That’s the money to buy out his contract from your management.”

Ryoma’s expression shifts immediately, the reaction sharp and unfiltered. His eyes drop to the check, then snap back to Jackson, disbelief mixing with something heavier.

“…You’ve got some nerve,” he mutters, the edge in his voice barely held back.

But just as quickly, something else catches him. It’s Nakahara, sitting there, quiet, his posture unchanged, his gaze resting on the check as if it’s nothing more than a piece of paper placed there by accident.

That calm doesn’t settle well with Ryoma. It presses against him in a way that irritates him more than the offer itself.

His brow tightens, eyes narrowing slightly as he looks between the check and Nakahara again, something restless building under his skin.