VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

One of the biggest problems with having too many top-level fighters inside the same gym is the workload that comes with it. Not just the physical workload, but also the division of attention, the allocation of coaching resources, and most importantly, the structure of the training camps themselves.

The more major fights scheduled close to each other, the harder it becomes to prepare every fighter properly without the camps overlapping and disrupting one another.

The year before, when all of them fought on the same stage, it allowed the entire gym to run one unified training camp together. The coaching staff never had to split their focus too far. Sparring partners rotated efficiently.

But this year, all six of Ronin Fight Management main fighters are now spread across three separate events, each roughly a month apart from the next.

Ryohei and Okabe, mid-February, headlining Ronin’s own event at Ota City General Gymnasium.

Satoru and Aramaki, late March, compete at Korakuen Hall, with the growing workload forcing Ronin to let Kirizume take the hosting right.

And then comes fight night for Ryoma and Kenta, the biggest event of them all in mid-April.

So despite having three title fights and one world final eliminator spread across their schedule, Ronin Fight Management turn their own gym into the central training camp for the time being.

“Don’t cross your feet. Again.”

Sera’s voice cuts sharply across the gym floor while standing near the edge of the marked training area as he watches Ryohei move through another footwork sequence.

“Smaller steps. You’re not chasing him. You’re cutting the angle.”

Ryohei immediately adjusts his movement. His shoes slide sharply across the canvas-covered floor, shoulders relaxed while his body shifts lightly from side to side.

He steps out, pivots, resets, and then immediately angles again without allowing his stance to narrow too much beneath him.

“Again,” Sera says. “And stop bouncing so high. You waste energy every time your heels leave the floor.”

Meanwhile, inside one of the rings nearby, Nakahara supervises Okabe personally. A thick rope stretches diagonally across the ring from one corner toward the opposite side at shoulder level, forcing Okabe to constantly dip beneath it while advancing forward.

He slips left, rolls right, steps, and slips again, over and over until he reaches the other end.

“Lower,” Nakahara says immediately. “Your head’s still too high.”

Okabe grits his teeth and sinks deeper into the movement despite the exhaustion already burning through his legs.

Sweat flies from his hair every time he rolls beneath the rope before stepping forward again.

“Don’t bend from the waist,” Nakahara continues calmly. “Use your legs. Lower your legs.”

This time Okabe suddenly stops midway through the drill, breathing heavily while wiping sweat from his chin with the back of his glove.

“But coach… a lot of great fighters bend from the waist,” he argues. “Even Shimamura does it all the time.”

Nakahara immediately barks back without hesitation. “And that’s exactly why Shimamura failed to beat his guy.”

Okabe grimaces slightly but still tries arguing. “But…”

Nakahara steps closer toward him before cutting him off entirely. “Listen carefully. Every drill has its own purpose. And every fighter has a different body, different instincts, different rhythm.”

He taps Okabe lightly on the chest. “For you, bending at the waist won’t help your style.”

Then Nakahara bends his knees deeply himself, lowering into stance while patting his own thighs.

“When you slip and roll like this, using your legs properly, you’re not only training defense.”

He shifts his weight upward sharply, demonstrating the motion fluidly. “You’re building a spring.”

His finger points toward Okabe’s legs. “From your toes. Your calves. Your thighs. Everything underneath becomes support for your punches the moment you rise back up.”

Then he straightens slightly. “You can’t create that if you fold yourself at the waist.”

Okabe blinks once. Then quietly, he steps back toward the rope and tries the motion again; slip left, roll underneath, rise upward, everything done by bending on the waist.

This time he throws a short hook after emerging from beneath the rope. And indeed, the punch feels different.

Okabe slows to a stop. “…You’re right,” he mutters while staring at his own glove. “If I bend at the waist, there’s no anchor in the legs. The punch only comes from the arm swinging.”

“Exactly,” Nakahara says immediately. “No drive from the toes. No spring from the calves and thighs. No hip twist. No shoulder rotation.”

Then his finger points back toward the rope again. “Now stop talking and keep going.”

Okabe exhales heavily through his nose while continuing forward beneath the rope again and again, shoulders twitching from fatigue now.

For a brawler, head movement like this never comes naturally. His instincts still prefer marching forward behind pressure and toughness alone. But Nakahara keeps forcing the drill repeatedly anyway, sharpening the defensive rhythm little by little until slipping punches starts becoming muscle memory instead of conscious effort.

Meanwhile, farther across the gym, Ryoma stands calmly near the padded wall with both hands resting behind his head while Hiroshi repeatedly strikes the lower part of his ribs using a short bamboo stick.

The impacts are not excessively hard, but they come steadily and without pause, carrying enough force to create microscopic fractures that will eventually heal back denser over time.

Ryoma has continued this hardening routine ever since the Thanid Koutahi fight the previous year. Back during the early months of the conditioning, the pain used to become unbearable after only a few minutes.

But now, even after enduring the process for more than fifteen minutes, Ryoma only shows mild discomfort lingering across his expression. The pain is still there, deep and heavy beneath the surface, but he manages it quietly without complaining anymore.

“You’ve improved a lot,” Hiroshi says as he continues the torture. “Back then, your muscles would tense every time I hit you, and your breathing became unstable almost immediately.”

Ryoma exhales slowly through his nose before glancing sideways toward him.

“You’re being too soft on me.”

Hiroshi’s brows twitch immediately. Without replying, the bamboo suddenly starts snapping faster against Ryoma’s ribs.

Tak-tak-tak-tak.

The rhythm becomes noticeably heavier now, the repeated impacts digging deeper into the same area over and over without pause.

Ryoma immediately feels the difference. The muscles around his abdomen tighten instinctively while the accumulating pain begins spreading hotter beneath the ribs with every consecutive strike.

Hiroshi notices the shift, yet he actually keeps increasing the pressure.

“Hey, hey…” Ryoma finally complains. “Are you trying to injure me?”

Only then does Hiroshi reduce the force behind the strikes again, returning to the earlier level of impact.

“How much longer?” Ryoma asks with a tired sigh.

“More than ten minutes,” Hiroshi answers. “Why? Is the pain already unbearable?”

“Not really,” Ryoma mutters. “I’m just bored.”

“Well, bear with it,” Hiroshi says while continuing the steady strikes. “Once the pain actually becomes unbearable, that’s when I’ll continue for another three minutes. Or should I make it harder again?”

“Don’t. My fight’s coming soon. I don’t need you ruining it.”

“Then stop complaining.”

Ryoma simply exhales afterward and spends the remaining time observing the rest of the gym to kill the boredom.

His eyes drift first toward Ryohei across the floor, still moving through footwork drills under Sera’s supervision.

The rhythm of his movement remains sharp and smooth as always, constantly shifting angles without crossing his feet once.

“Well… I still need to teach him how to stop running away and hold his ground.”

Then his attention shifts toward the second ring farther across the gym, where Satoru and Kenta are moving through light sparring rounds together.

The current gym building is already large enough to hold two full-sized rings comfortably, something that would have been impossible for the old gym.

Even so, Ryoma’s brows narrow slightly while watching the session.

“We still need another trainer.”

A little farther away, Aramaki rolls his shoulders loosely near the ropes, forced to wait until Okabe finishes the defensive drill with Nakahara before taking his turn himself.

Ryoma clicks his tongue quietly. “This won’t do.”

“What?” Hiroshi replies without stopping the strikes. “You want me to hit harder again?”

“No. I’m talking about this gym.” Ryoma slowly looks around the room again. “And the fighters… they keep getting better. Every one of them deserves success too.”

Hiroshi snorts lightly. “Oh, you only realize that now? You’re the one who started all this. Everyone else figured it out long ago. And meanwhile, the coaching staff’s the one dying from the workload.”

“Yeah… another trainer would help,” Ryoma mutters. “No. Maybe two.”

“Just focus on your own training first,” Hiroshi says. “You’ve already done too much for this gym. And lately… I won’t say you’re slacking off. But your attention’s too divided now. Promotion work, negotiations, management, acting like the CEO…”

“Then maybe we need more staff too,” Ryoma says.

“And who’s paying their salaries?” Hiroshi immediately shoots back.

Ryoma says nothing afterward. But Hiroshi already knows that silence. The moment Ryoma stops arguing, it usually means he is already planning how to make it happen anyway.

“Just win the world title first,” Hiroshi says while continuing the steady strikes against the ribs. “The whole gym benefits from that too.”

Ryoma’s still not saying anything. The bamboo continues striking repeatedly against the ribs and the discomfort is no longer something he hides well.

The muscles around his abdomen tighten harder with every consecutive impact, and faint strain finally starts showing clearly across his face.

Hiroshi eventually glances up toward him before stopping briefly to check his watch.

“Alright,” he says. “Hold it for another three minutes. But if it becomes too much, say it immediately.”

Then his tone becomes slightly more serious. “It’d be stupid getting injured now and losing your chance to challenge for that world title.”