VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

It is becoming increasingly obvious to Ryoma that Nobusawa is the real deal. Not merely experienced on paper, but someone who genuinely understands the hidden structure behind large-scale operations and financial management.

And yet, despite that, one question still refuses to leave his mind. Why would someone like her even want to work for a tiny promotional company that has only existed for a few days?

Ryoma leans back slightly in his chair before speaking again, his tone calm and measured.

“With your level of experience, knowledge, and background,” he says, “I’m sure you’re already accustomed to dealing with major corporations and large-scale management structures. Naturally, that usually comes with certain expectations as well.”

Nobusawa listens quietly, though she already seems to understand where Ryoma is trying to steer the conversation.

“So honestly,” Ryoma continues, “I’m concerned a small company like ours may not be able to meet those expectations yet.”

Nobusawa studies him for a brief moment. Then, unexpectedly, her smile softens into something warmer, brighter than before.

“Does that mean,” she asks gently, “you’re interested enough to hire me?”

“Of course,” Ryoma answers honestly. “But the best we can currently offer right now is six hundred thousand yen per month. And I know that number probably isn’t even half of what you used to make before.”

For the first time since entering the office, a faint crack appears in Nobusawa’s composure. It is subtle, barely visible.

There’s a slight hesitation in her smile, a tiny pause in her breathing. It’s not open disappointment exactly, but the quiet collision between financial reality and the remnants of expectations shaped by a much larger past.

She clearly comes here already prepared for a lower salary than before. But even then, the figure is still lower than she likely hoped.

Fortunately, Ryoma catches it almost immediately. And strangely enough, for once, he realizes he genuinely does not want to lose this applicant.

“But…” he says, raising a single finger. “I’ll also give you two percent of every yen you successfully save from unnecessary logistical leakage during our Ota Gym event this February.”

Nobusawa slightly raises an eyebrow. “Only for that one event?”

“We can treat it as a trial run,” Ryoma replies. “If you can demonstrate measurable financial efficiency without lowering the quality of the event itself, then I’ll raise the incentive to four percent for future events.”

He leans back again. “After Ota, we’ll be handling a regional Asia-Pacific title event. After that, a world title fight.”

His gaze remains steady. “This company is still small. But once I become world champion, this promotional firm will become much larger than it is now.”

A faint confidence settles naturally into his voice, not arrogance, simply certainty. “And when that happens, we can renegotiate your contract properly next year.”

For several seconds after that, neither of them speaks. The tension does not feel uncomfortable anymore, only thoughtful, as though both sides are quietly trying to measure the other more carefully now.

Nobusawa studies Ryoma in silence. Even fully aware that the young man sitting across from her is young enough to be nearly half her age, she no longer feels like she is speaking to a mere kid trying to imitate the confidence of adulthood.

And the truth is, she has already spent time observing this gym long before this job opening ever appeared. Not personally, but through articles, interviews, financial rumors, event reports, sponsor movements, and the rapidly growing media attention surrounding Ryoma Takeda and Nakahara Gym. In some ways, it’s like studying the potential growth of a company before investing in its stock.

She acknowledge the momentum, understands patterns. And she admits that Ryoma’s rise so far is not normal. Now, sitting directly in front of him, she no longer sees just another talented young boxer speaking recklessly about future dreams.

What she sees instead is someone already thinking with the perspective of a company leader, someone building a structure around his own future while fully intending to drag everyone upward alongside him.

Eventually, a faint amused smile forms on Nobusawa’s face. She shakes her head lightly, almost in disbelief.

“You really are exactly like they say.”

Ryoma tilts his head slightly. “Oh? And who exactly says what about me?”

“The media, of course.” Then Nobusawa slowly rises from her chair and extends her hand toward him. “All right. I accept your challenge.”

For the first time since the interview begins, Ryoma’s guarded composure breaks completely. A genuinely youthful laugh escapes him, unrestrained and almost boyish.

He quickly stands and shakes her hand firmly. “I can’t wait to see what kind of impact you’ll make here.”

“Oh,” Nobusawa says, “if you don’t mind, I can start working immediately today. There’s no one waiting for me at home anyway.”

“With pleasure,” Ryoma answers, already stepping away from the desk with visible excitement. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the others.”

Ryoma leads Nobusawa into the shared management office on the same floor where Kurogane and Sera are currently working through event documents while Toyama organizes paperwork nearby.

The moment Ryoma appears at the doorway, the atmosphere shifts. He stands there with a bright grin while casually resting both hands on Nobusawa’s shoulders from behind, looking far less like a CEO now and more like an overly excited kid showing off something valuable he just found.

“Hey,” he says cheerfully, “meet our newest member. Higuchi Nobusawa-san. Starting today, she’ll be the one protecting this company’s wallet.”

Kurogane raises an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerous.”

Sera lets out a quiet laugh as he approaches. “Welcome. Please forgive the mess. We still barely know where half the files are.”

Toyama bows enthusiastically. “I’m Toyama! I helped carry the interview drinks today, so technically I already contributed to management operations.”

Nobusawa cannot help smiling at the strange atmosphere. Rather than feeling like a formal company office, the room still carries the loose warmth of people building something together while learning as they go.

After a few more exchanges, Ryoma finally gestures around the room. “For now, please work here together with everyone else first. We only moved into this building two days ago, so most of the other rooms still aren’t ready yet.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Nobusawa replies calmly. “Working as part of a team is much more enjoyable anyway.”

“Perfect, then.” Ryoma already loosens his necktie while unbuttoning the top part of his shirt. “Now that we finally have an accountant, I want to start my training. I’m leaving Nobusawa-san in your care. Don’t bully her too much.”

“Depends,” Kurogane says. “Can she survive hearing Sera explain schedules for three straight hours?”

“I heard that,” Sera replies flatly.

Ryoma laughs once before turning away from the office.

And just like that, the young CEO disappears down the stairs, returning once again to being what he still truly is underneath everything else:

A young boxer chasing the world title.

***

In a few days, Ronin Fight Management finally reaches its initial target of hiring four additional staff members. One is assigned to support Sera, another assists Kurogane, and Hiroshi receives extra help too.

Meanwhile, the freshly graduate Matsamura Nakano joins as an intern under Nobusawa’s supervision, still adapting to the rhythm of a newly formed organization.

On Monday, January 8th, the company holds its official launch ceremony. It is not large or luxurious, but it is structurally significant.

Sports journalists arrive in waves at the new address printed on the invitation. From the outside, they only see the familiar sign of Nakahara Boxing Gym attached to a clean, two-story building.

“Is this really it?”

“Just a relocation, and they called national media for this?”

But as they step inside, guided by Toyama toward the second floor, the tone begins to change. The building feels different than expected, more organized.

At the entrance to the second floor, behind a thick glass door, a minimal LED-lit logo confirms the shift in identity: Ronin Fight Management.

The second floor itself has been converted into a clean press conference space. A small stage is set, and two nameplates sit firmly on the table: Kenji Nakahara (Chairman) and Ryoma Takeda (CEO).

Only then do the journalists fully realize they are not attending a simple gym announcement. This is a formal unveiling of a new structure in Japanese boxing.

During the press Q&A, after the initial questions settle, a reporter raises his hand and leans forward.

“Nakahara-san, congratulations on the launch of your new firm. However, the name ‘Ronin’ carries the connotation of masterless samurai, isolated wanderers without loyalty. Why choose such a rebellious symbol for a professional promotion company?”

Nakahara leans into the microphone, answering without hesitation. “That is precisely the point. A ronin is a warrior without a master, but for us, it represents independence, autonomy, and full control over one’s path.”

His gaze moves briefly across the room, then toward Ryoma seated at the CEO position. “You can already see it here. Ryoma Takeda is our youngest asset, yet he stands as CEO and owner of this firm. We do not define value by age or hierarchy in the traditional sense.”

“We structure our fighters with short-term, flexible contracts rather than long binding agreements. Loyalty here is not enforced through obligation, but formed through trust and mutual benefit.”

Nakahara pauses briefly, his eyes flicking toward Coach Murakami, who is also present in the room, before continuing his speech.

“We also work on a per-event basis with fighters outside our system. Many smaller gyms struggle just to secure undercard opportunities. We want to open that door.”

His voice settles into something more final. “We are Ronin. We do not have a master, and we do not intend to become one.”