VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The atmosphere inside the office changes immediately after those words leave his mouth. And Ramirez no longer looks irritated now. His face turns noticeably colder instead.

Rivera catches the shift instantly. So before Miguel can continue speaking, Rivera cuts in carefully.

“Nobody here is trying to corner you,” he says while looking toward Ramirez instead of Miguel. “What Miguel means is simply that the situation is becoming difficult to delay forever. His contract ends this March. If this situation keeps dragging on after that, then there’s a real possibility the fight moves somewhere outside Vanguard Crown entirely.”

Miguel stays quiet now, allowing Rivera to take over the conversation again.

“I’m not saying this as a threat,” Rivera says carefully. “I came here because I still think there’s room for everybody to benefit from this instead of turning it into unnecessary conflict. The fight is already valuable financially, and if Vanguard Crown handles it properly, the business potential becomes enormous.”

For several seconds, Ramirez says absolutely nothing. The displeasure across his face remains obvious now, not because Rivera’s argument lacks logic, but because Miguel has already pushed the conversation into territory Ramirez clearly dislikes.

Meanwhile, Miguel himself still looks far too confident, almost as though he believes the pressure they brought into the office is finally beginning to work.

Then, unexpectedly, Ramirez smiles. The tension that had been hardening across his face moments earlier suddenly eases, and the change in expression immediately alters the atmosphere inside the office.

Even Rivera pauses for a moment, quietly wondering whether Ramirez has finally decided to approach the situation pragmatically after all.

Meanwhile, Miguel interprets the reaction even more confidently, already convinced the pressure surrounding the fight has finally begun forcing Ramirez to reconsider his position.

Ramirez reaches toward the intercom resting near his desk and presses the button calmly.

“Angela,” he says, “bring me Miguel Cabello’s contract file.”

[Right away, sir.]

Miguel glances briefly toward Rivera after hearing that, and the confidence on his face becomes even more obvious now.

As far as he understands it, Ramirez is finally preparing to discuss terms seriously. Rivera, however, suddenly feels much less certain.

A minute later, the secretary enters carrying a thick black folder before placing it carefully on the desk. Ramirez thanks her quietly, waits for the office door to close again, then opens the file himself.

The room falls silent except for the soft sound of paper turning beneath Ramirez’s fingers. Page after page passes while Ramirez calmly searches through the contract.

Miguel’s confidence remains intact. If anything, the delay only seems to reinforce his belief that Ramirez is calculating negotiation terms already.

Then Ramirez stops at one particular page.

“There it is,” he says.

He turns the file around and slides it across the desk toward Miguel.

“Clause seventeen,” Ramirez says calmly. “Why don’t you read it yourself?”

Miguel barely hides the smugness on his face as he pulls the contract closer. Rivera leans slightly beside him while Miguel scans downward through the printed text.

At first, his expression barely changes. Then his eyes stop moving, and the confidence disappears almost instantly.

Rivera notices it immediately and grabs the document himself.

The clause reads:

“Should the Boxer obtain a recognized World Championship at any time during the effective period of this Agreement, this Agreement shall automatically renew and extend for a period of twenty-four (24) months beginning on the date such championship is won. Thereafter, each successful defense of the championship title by the Boxer shall automatically renew and extend this Agreement for an additional twenty-four (24) month period calculated from the date of each title defense.”

Silence settles heavily across the office afterward.

Miguel reads the clause again more slowly this time, as though the words might somehow rearrange themselves into something different. Rivera’s expression hardens slightly as he continues staring at the contract.

Meanwhile, Ramirez removes his glasses calmly before setting them atop the desk.

“You should really start reading the things you sign, Miguel,” he says.

Miguel’s eyes move over the clause again, but this time he is no longer reading it as legal text. He is reading it as an exit he thought he had, and slowly realizing there is none.

The only way to free himself from Ramirez is to abandon the very thing that defines him now, to deliberately lose the world championship and step away from it, something his pride rejects before the thought can even fully settle.

But if he keeps winning, if he keeps defending the title, then there is no escape at all. Every victory does not bring him closer to freedom. It only tightens the grip of the contract around him, until he becomes nothing more than a slave.

Miguel slowly lifts his gaze from the paper toward Ramirez.

“You… You tricked me?”

His brows tighten further as the words fully leave his mouth.

“You scoundrel… you set me up?”

Ramirez does not react immediately. He folds his hands together as if the accusation itself is not worth interrupting his thoughts.

“No one tricked you,” he says calmly. “The clause was there before you ever signed anything.”

Miguel’s breathing becomes slightly heavier, but Ramirez continues without raising his voice.

“And if you understand how this business works, you would know this kind of structure is not unusual. A promoter does not invest years building a fighter just to lose control of him the moment that fighter becomes valuable.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying Miguel with a cold, almost clinical focus.

“That is not exploitation. That is standard risk management. And the fact that you are only realizing it now says more about your lack of attention than it does about any deception on my part.”

Miguel says nothing immediately. His gaze drops back to the contract file on the desk, but he is no longer reading it. The words have already settled into something heavier than language.

His shoulders slacken slightly as the full weight of what he signed begins to press down on him in a way no opponent ever managed to do in the ring.

For the first time since entering the office, the confidence that carried him here is completely absent. What remains is a slow, sinking realization that he had been so focused on the size of the signing bonus, that he never once treated the document as something capable of defining the rest of his career.

It had looked like opportunity at the time. It had felt like validation. Now it only feels like carelessness.

Ramirez studies Miguel’s silence for a moment longer. The coldness in his expression does not disappear entirely, but it shifts into something more controlled, softer.

When he speaks again, his tone is almost gentle, as if the previous exchange had simply been a misunderstanding that no longer needs to escalate.

“Now go. Enjoy your time off as you should. You do not need to worry about public perception or media narratives.”

He gestures faintly with one hand, as if dismissing the tension in the room altogether.

“Leave that to me. In time, their respect will return. That much I can guarantee.”

Miguel does not respond. There is no argument left in him that feels useful anymore. Slowly, he pushes himself up from the chair. He walks toward the door and leaves the office without looking back.

Perhaps Ramirez is right. Perhaps he really can control the narrative, reshape public perception, and restore the image of Miguel Cabello as a respected world champion in the eyes of the boxing world.

But none of that changes the position Miguel is actually in. No matter how the world sees him, he is still nothing more than a slave under Hugo Ramirez’s contract.

Rivera remains seated for a brief moment longer, his eyes moving between Miguel and Ramirez as if confirming something unspoken between them.

Then he gives a small nod toward Ramirez. Ramirez responds with an imperceptible inclination of his head in return. Only after that does Rivera stand and takes his leave.

***

The next morning, Hugo Ramirez is intercepted just outside the entrance of Vanguard Crown Promotions. A cluster of local journalists is already waiting for him, cameras raised, microphones pushed forward the moment he steps out of his car.

The scene looks confrontational on the surface, as if they have come to corner him with questions he has no interest in answering.

“Mr. Ramirez, Sir… Is it true you are deliberately avoiding negotiations with Ryoma Takeda?”

“Why has there been no official response from your camp despite the champion himself calling out for him before this?”

“Does this mean you do not believe he deserves a title opportunity against Miguel Cabello?”

Ramirez stops walking. He does not look surprised. And he does not look defensive either. Instead, he scans the group slowly, as if confirming something only he understands.

The journalists continue speaking, their questions sharp and coordinated, but none of it catches Ramirez off guard because this is exactly the kind of attention he arranged.

The tone, the timing, even the angle of the questioning all reflect a narrative that has already been set in motion before he ever stepped out of his car.

When he finally speaks, his tone is calm, measured, almost conversational, as if the pressure being directed at him is more of a formality than a threat.

“I am not ignoring Ryoma Takeda,” he says. “This situation is far more complicated than it appears from the outside. At this moment, Liam O’Connell still holds the number one ranking in the WBO, and his camp continues to insist on a rematch.”

He pauses briefly, letting that information settle. And somehow, none of these journalist pressures him any further or challenge his response.

“Ryoma Takeda’s team absolutely has the right to submit a formal challenge to the commission,” he continues. “However, I would strongly encourage the governing bodies to evaluate this situation with proper discretion.”

His gaze moves across the journalists again, steady and controlled. “If Ryoma Takeda is truly deemed the most suitable next contender, then the most reasonable solution would be to arrange an eliminator bout between him and Liam O’Connell. The winner would then become the legitimate challenger for the title.”