VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

For the first time in this long and exhausting fight, Liam O’Connel returns to his corner looking like the clear winner of the round.

His face is already swollen badly beneath the arena lights, but he still raises one glove briefly on the way back to the stool, visibly satisfied.

Because the eighth round had belonged to him completely. Not only through pressure and punch volume, but also through actual scoring blows.

Meanwhile, Miguel Cabello has spent most of the round retreating, trapped near the ropes and corners far more often than before.

He barely threw combinations, mostly focusing on maintaining distance, surviving exchanges, and repeatedly stopping the momentum through clinches.

Even the commentators begin noticing the shift.

“O’Connel is finally forcing his fight now!”

“And Cabello looks far less comfortable compared to the earlier rounds!”

Aramaki leans forward slightly before calling toward Ryoma across the sofa.

“So, Ryoma… if you were stuck in that situation, what would you do?”

Ryoma barely reacts. He simply keeps resting his cheek against his fist while watching the television.

“I’m not in that situation,” he says with a small shrug. “So I don’t really have an answer for it.”

Aramaki’s face twists immediately with visible disappointment before he turns toward Nakahara instead.

“What about you, sir? If you were in Miguel Cabello’s corner right now, what would you tell him?”

“Hmm…” Nakahara exhales slowly first, taking a few seconds to think before answering. “I’d say his corner already gave him the correct solution.”

Aramaki blinks. “Really? But he still lost that round badly.”

“That’s part of the calculation,” Nakahara says with a calm nod. “They probably believe Cabello already secured the fight from round one through seven. So now the priority changes. He no longer needs to force exchanges just to pile up scoring shots. Right now, the important thing is surviving safely, avoiding knockdowns, and preventing the rounds from becoming overwhelmingly one-sided.”

Aramaki slowly turns his attention back toward the screen afterward. “So… he barely fights back not because he can’t. He’s just conserving himself?”

“You could put it that way,” Nakahara replies quietly. “He could still answer back harder if he wants to. He could make the exchanges more even.”

Another replay flashes briefly across the television; Liam crashing forward through punches just to bury another hook into Miguel’s side.

“But at this level,” Nakahara continues, “you have to think carefully about risk. One mistake can erase everything. Not just the score you built for eight rounds, but also months of preparation.”

Then he glances sideways toward Aramaki with a faint bitter smile. “Just like what you did to Rikiya Miyamoto. He controlled you beautifully for most of that fight. Then he made one mistake, and you ended everything with a single punch.”

The office falls quiet afterward except for the television commentary echoing softly through the room.

Aramaki slowly sinks back against the sofa without saying anything, because he can already imagine how terrible it would feel to lose a fight you had controlled almost perfectly.

***

Rounds nine and ten continue in much the same pattern afterward; Miguel Cabello becoming increasingly pragmatic, while Liam O’Connel refuses to stop trying to break him through relentless pressure.

But that does not mean Cabello has run out of answers. He is not merely surviving while waiting for Liam to tire himself out. Whenever small opportunities appear, Miguel quietly uses them to drain Liam little by little in return.

The clinches themselves become part of that strategy. Every time Cabello ties him up, he not only kills the momentum, but also steals moments to recover his own breathing while forcing Liam to carry his weight.

Small punches slip into the body during the clinch. Short nudges disturb balance. Sometimes Miguel’s left glove presses briefly across Liam’s mouth and nose before the referee separates them again.

It’s nothing dramatic, just small irritating things that slowly accumulate physical and mental exhaustion.

Even near the ropes, Cabello no longer panics. He shifts back into the Philly Shell again, calmly waiting for Liam to overcommit during the barrage.

Dug! Dug! Dug!

Thud! Bugh! Dug. Dug.

Then the moment Liam leans too far forward behind a straight cross, a short coiling counter suddenly snaps into Liam’s face from the shell position.

Dsh!

“Oh! Sharp counter from Cabello!”

“He’s still finding those little openings!”

Liam’s head jerks slightly from the impact. And before the pressure can restart properly, Miguel immediately drives his lead shoulder into Liam’s chest…

Bugh!

…before wrapping his left arm on the back of Liam’s head, and drives a small punch into the solar plexus during the tie-up.

Thud!

And then he ends it with a clinch.

“Veteran move there from Cabello!”

“He’s making O’Connel work every second of this fight!”

Miguel rarely fights back now. But every single time he does, he makes sure to leave behind something that slowly chips away at Liam O’Connel’s endurance.

***

Miguel Cabello willingly gives Liam O’Connel several rounds from the eighth through the tenth. But the price Liam pays for forcing those rounds becomes visible once the eleventh begins.

Liam rises from his corner still breathing heavily through his mouth, chest expanding harder than before. His arms no longer stay as high or as active as they had been earlier in the fight, and there is visible stiffness in his legs now whenever he pressures forward.

The pressure still exists. The determination still exists. But the freshness behind it is gone.

Meanwhile, Miguel Cabello looks far more composed by comparison. Fatigue still lingers on him too after ten hard rounds, yet his posture remains relaxed, shoulders loose, breathing controlled.

And almost immediately, the fight slips back into the earlier rhythm again. Miguel circles smoothly along the perimeter before lightly shifting angle through another pivot.

Then suddenly, a quick left hand snaps against Liam’s forehead during the transition.

Dsh!

“Beautiful timing from Cabello!”

Before Liam can answer properly, Miguel is already gone from the line again. He casually walks laterally afterward, posture relaxed, giving small shoulder feints while subtly changing rhythm with his feet.

Liam steps in behind another jab. Miguel slips outside, and a short left touches the cheek during the angle shift.

Dsh!

“Oh, that’s clean again!”

“Cabello is making him reset over and over!”

Nothing comes in large combinations, no reckless exchanges. Cabello only sends a single accurate punch after long stretches of movement and feints.

Miguel drifts left, briefly pauses, dips his lead shoulder, then suddenly slides back toward the opposite angle, and…

Dsh!

Another sharp left hand slips neatly through the opening.

“Every mistake gets punished right now!”

“And look at how relaxed Cabello still is!”

Liam continues trying to close distance through pure persistence, but each advance now looks heavier than before, while Miguel keeps calmly clipping him apart one precise opening at a time.

And even when he manages to push Miguel back to the ropes, the close range fight no looks like a one-sided brawling.

Miguel shifts to the Philly Shell, absorbs a few punches on his lead shoulder, upper arm, and right guard parry.

Dug. Dugh. Pat.

And simply fights back without waiting too long for a counter opening appears.

He smoothly shifts his stance, and sends a right body blow.

Dug.

Liam blocks it on the side of his elbow, but suddenly…

Thuck!

The same right lightly hits his chin from below.

And Miguel wraps him into another clinch, using the break to regain the space back.

Back inside Nakahara’s office, the atmosphere subtly shifts together with the fight itself. Sera and Nakahara already look convinced by the shape of Miguel Cabello’s long-term strategy, while Ryoma stays quiet beside them, his eyes fixed sharply on the television as the Vision Grid continues dissecting every movement happening inside the ring.

Only Aramaki openly shows his disbelief. “No way… Don’t tell me he was pretending to struggle earlier.”

“He wasn’t pretending,” Nakahara replies calmly. “That was simply a smart long-term investment.”

Another clean jab snaps against Liam’s face onscreen.

Dsh!

“He used those few rounds to recover while forcing Liam to spend more and more energy chasing him,” Nakahara continues. “And the return from that investment will appear now in these last two rounds.”

Aramaki slowly watches the screen in silence afterward as Miguel smoothly pivots away from another exhausted charge before clipping Liam again during the angle shift.

Dsh!

“With this pace…” Sera says quietly, “I don’t think Liam O’Connel can force a knockdown anymore.”

Another exchange erupts near center ring.

Dug! Dsh! THUD!

“But Miguel clearly has the decision right now.”

And just as Nakahara predicted, both fighters finally look exhausted once the twelfth round begins.

The punches still carry danger. Every collision still produces ugly impact against flesh and guard alike, visible from the way both men’s heads snap, shoulders tense, and bodies recoil after exchanges.

But neither fighter can fully break the other anymore. Miguel continues moving. Liam continues chasing.

The crowd keeps roaring through every final exchange as both fighters empty whatever remains inside the tank beneath the bright arena lights.

And eventually…

Ding! Ding! Ding!