VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The taxi slows to a stop right in front of the gym entrance. Kenta pays the driver, pushes the door open, and steps out onto the sidewalk.

Then he sees them immediately. Two massive men standing near the entrance like statues in black jackets, arms folded in front of them, their size alone enough to make people unconsciously keep distance while passing by.

Kenta recognizes them at once. He saw those same men after his meeting with Jackson Rhodes at the Peninsula Tokyo two nights ago. Just from that alone, Kenta already understands why Nakahara suddenly called him here.

One of the bodyguards glances toward him briefly, expression unreadable, before looking away again like Kenta is already expected.

Kenta exhales quietly before walking past them and entering the gym.

“Morning…”

He greets after stepping inside, though the uncertainty in his voice is obvious. The bruises from Manila still linger across his face, faint discoloration that hasn’t completely disappeared yet.

Okabe and Ryohei are already there, both turning toward him after hearing his voice. But it’s Aramaki who approaches first, sweat still clinging lightly to his shirt.

“Oh, Kenta… you’re back already,” he says casually at first, before his eyes study Kenta’s face more carefully. “Didn’t Coach Nakahara tell you to stay away for a week?”

“He actually called me here,” Kenta replies.

Aramaki blinks once. “Oh…”

Kenta only answers with a small nod and a faint smile before continuing toward Nakahara’s office. Judging from Aramaki’s reaction, it seems the others still don’t know anything yet.

He stops in front of the office door and knocks twice.

“Sir, it’s me.”

Nakahara answers almost immediately from inside.

“Yes. Get in.”

Kenta opens the door and steps inside, only for his expression to tighten slightly when he sees how crowded the room already is.

Jackson Rhodes is sitting comfortably on the sofa, glancing toward him with the same confident smile he showed back at the Peninsula Tokyo. Beside him sits the lawyer, calm and unreadable as before.

Reika is there too, though she can’t even properly look at him. There’s still worry written across her face, like she’s afraid this entire situation will once again be blamed on her.

And then there’s Ryoma, sitting alone on the single sofa across from Jackson, his eyes fixed directly on Kenta from the moment he enters the room.

The look on his face is cold and serious, and he speaks to Kenta immediately without even offering him a seat first.

“Kenta,” Ryoma says flatly, “tell us directly. Are you really thinking about leaving this gym?”

Kenta doesn’t answer right away. His eyes move across the room first, studying the atmosphere carefully. Nakahara sits quietly behind the desk, his expression difficult to read. Reika still avoids looking directly at him. Even the lawyer beside Jackson remains completely silent, simply observing.

Then Kenta’s gaze lowers slightly, toward the check resting on the coffee table between them. The number written there immediately tightens something inside his chest.

Jackson notices the hesitation at once. And before that hesitation has the chance to shift into rejection, he smoothly steps into the silence.

“Like I told you that night,” Jackson says casually, leaning back against the sofa, “you don’t need to worry about this gym. Your coach isn’t trying to hold you down here. And of course, I’m not taking you away without compensation either. I’m offering one million dollars. That should be more than enough.”

He glances around the office briefly before continuing. “With that kind of money, they could improve this gym even further. Or maybe help fund their next event on a much bigger scale.”

Then Jackson’s eyes shift toward Ryoma. “And you…” he says calmly, “I know you’re getting close to a world title fight soon.”

Ryoma’s gaze hardens immediately, the contempt in his eyes becoming unmistakable as he realizes exactly how Jackson is trying to steer the conversation.

But Jackson continues anyway, completely unfazed by the hostility directed at him. “And I also know you want to host that fight here in Japan.” A faint smile forms on his face. “But winning a big purse won’t be as easy as when you forced that Yoyogi event into existence.”

He tilts his head slightly. “For a world title fight, you’d need at least three million dollars just for the purse bid alone.”

After saying that, his smile sharpens subtly, one eyebrow lifting just slightly higher. And this time, Ryoma no longer sees it as simple confidence.

His Vision Grid keeps tracking every small shift in Jackson’s expression automatically, the corners of the mouth, the timing behind the eye contact, the deliberate rhythm behind each sentence.

It feels intentional now, provoking, planting something.

Ryoma’s eyes shift toward the check on the table, and before long, he understands exactly what Jackson is trying to do.

The bastard is deliberately framing him as someone already tempted by the money, someone willing to sell Kenta away for his own selfish ambition. The realization immediately grates against him.

Then Ryoma looks back toward Kenta. And there, he sees the sharpness beginning to form across Kenta’s face. Jackson’s words have already started affecting him.

***

Kenta stays quiet for now, but his mind is already moving.

The conversation with his father earlier had changed something inside him. At the very least, it killed the thought of retiring. Running away from boxing no longer feels right after hearing those words in the fruit shop.

But continuing in this gym? That is different.

He no longer blames Ryoma for what happened in Manila either. The anger he carried after the loss has already cooled enough for him to see the situation more clearly now.

Ryoma has enemies, powerful ones. And this gym itself still has limits, especially when it comes to money and influence. Kenta understands that much better now.

So when Jackson places one million dollars on the table like this, part of Kenta actually feels relieved. At least his departure would not leave the gym empty-handed. At least both sides would gain something from it.

“…So,” Kenta finally says, his eyes shifting between Ryoma and Nakahara, “did you accept the offer and decide to let me go?”

“Honestly,” Ryoma replies, “I don’t want you leaving with this man. I don’t trust him. But the old man told me that I shouldn’t hold you down here.”

Then his eyes flick briefly toward the check. “And this money…”

“So you accepted it because of the money?” Kenta cuts in quietly, the uncertainty fading from his face as his expression gradually turns solemn.

Ryoma’s expression sharpens instantly. The atmosphere inside the office tightens at once as his gaze turns colder, heavier, carrying enough pressure that even Reika unconsciously stiffens in her seat.

“What I’m trying to tell you,” Ryoma says slowly, his voice low and edged with intimidation, “is that this money will become a debt you’ll pay back with your life.”

Jackson’s smile thins slightly, but Ryoma continues without looking at Kenta, his eyes locked directly onto Jackson with the kind of stare that feels sharp enough to peel back every ugly intention hiding underneath his skin.

“Right now, this is how he invests in you. But businessmen like him never spend money expecting small returns. They’ll want something much bigger back. And all of that pressure will end up on your shoulders.”

The room falls quiet around his words. Even Jackson’s lawyer pauses slightly now, the document still halfway out of his bag as he studies Ryoma more carefully.

Until this point, the conversation had been flowing exactly the way Jackson intended, slowly framing the offer as Kenta’s safest and smartest option. But Ryoma just turned that pressure around completely.

Instead of arguing emotionally or trying to hold Kenta back by force, he exposed the burden hiding underneath the promises, making the offer sound less like salvation and more like a debt designed to keep tightening around Kenta’s future.

“So it’s your choice,” Ryoma says, finally looking to Kenta. “If you truly want to leave, I won’t stop you. And I won’t take this money either.”