VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The following morning, Kirizume sits alone inside his office while several members of his management staff continue discussing preparations for the upcoming Serrano-Aramaki event.

The fight is drawing closer, and under normal circumstances, that should be enough to occupy most of his attention. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on the window beside his desk while his thoughts drift back toward a certain twenty-two-year-old promoter.

Meanwhile, the discussion continues behind him.

“I think late March is a little too soon? We still need time to promote the event.”

“Then early April?”

“Maybe. But if we wait too long, the momentum starts disappearing.”

“Either way, they’ve already agreed to give us hosting rights.”

“Yeah, but not for free.”

“Right. They only agreed because we promised to find an opponent for their Satoru.”

The room grows quiet for a moment. Then a few folders are pulled across the table. One of the men begins flipping through them while scanning the names inside.

“Honestly, who are we even supposed to find?” he mutters. “A Class-A fighter for a kid who just graduated from the Rookie Tournament? And for a hundred thousand yen?”

He snorts. “Who the hell is accepting that?”

The other staff member studies the same list before his eyes eventually drift toward Kirizume.

“Boss, why don’t we just give them Kazuya?”

Kirizume’s eyebrow twitches slightly. And the staff member continues without noticing it.

“Seriously,” he adds, “let Kazuya beat the kid up and embarrass their gym.”

For the first time since the discussion began, Kirizume turns away from the window and look at them.

“And what happens if Kazuya loses?” he asks.

The question immediately freezes both men. For several seconds, neither says anything before finally, they both lets out an awkward laugh.

“Boss… you’re joking, right?”

“I know Satoru won the All Japan Rookie Final, but Kazuya is ranked eleventh in the country. The difference in level and experience isn’t even close.”

“Yeah… They’re like a tiger and a house cat.”

Kirizume studies them for a moment before leaning back in his chair. “Maybe. But that cat has a handler who can convince a cat it’s a tiger. And convince a tiger it’s a cat.”

The room falls silent again. Neither staff member has the slightest idea what that is supposed to mean. More importantly, neither knows who the handler Kirizume is talking about.

“Then I’m asking you,” Kirizume continues, “what happens if Kazuya and Serrano lose on the same night.”

Neither man has an answer. They simply exchange another confused look before returning to the documents spread across the table. Even then, the strange conversation continues lingering in the back of their minds.

Kirizume watches them for a while before turning back toward the window. But the more he thinks about it, the more irritating the situation becomes.

Eventually, he rises from his chair, picks up his car keys, and heads for the door.

“Boss, where are you going?” one of the staff members asks.

“I need to go out for a bit,” Kirizume replies without looking back. “You two can handle the gym until I get back.”

***

Kirizume leaves the office and walks along the indoor mezzanine that overlooks the main gym floor below, one hand resting lightly against the railing as his eyes move across the facility.

The sight only reinforces a concern that has been growing in his mind for months. The gym is not nearly as busy as it used to be. The number of people below can practically be counted on his two hands.

Serrano is nowhere to be seen. But the fact doesn’t surprise Kirizume, because lately, Serrano has become far too comfortable.

Success has a way of changing people. Even with a title fight against Aramaki approaching, Serrano’s preparation has lacked urgency.

He’s still seeing Ryoma as his rival, keeps talking about moving up to Lightweight, unaware of how brutal the Lightweight division has become.

Unlike Serrano, Kazuya Tojo is already present. Unfortunately, he is not training. Instead, the eleventh-ranked national contender is busy chatting with four amateurs and two Class-B fighters, taking his recent ranking-bout loss far too lightly.

He continues to justify it as nothing more than a sacrifice made to preserve himself for the upcoming Class-A Tournament.

“I’ve already told you. The Class-A Tournament is more important. There was no point beating myself up in a ranking fight right before it.”

One of the amateurs nods immediately. “Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

“Exactly,” Kazuya replies. “If I went all-out every single fight, I’d end up carrying injuries into the tournament.”

One of the Class-B fighters chuckles. “Funny how everybody starts talking about strategy after losing.”

The group laughs. And before long, the topic has already drifted somewhere completely unrelated to boxing.

“…I’m telling you,” one of the amateurs says, “a gorilla definitely beats a bear.”

“A bear would kill a gorilla.”

“No chance.”

“A bear is twice the size!”

“Size isn’t everything.”

“You’re both idiots. A gorilla would obviously win.”

“You only picked the gorilla because you think like the gorilla.”

“Damn right.”

The conversation keeps shifting into an even more ridiculous debate whether Serrano looking more like a peacock, or whether crying would ruin Serrano’s hairstyle.

Standing above them, Kirizume watches the group for several seconds. Not one of them notices him. More importantly, not one of them seems bothered by how far the gym has fallen.

Most of the amateurs never returned. Several Class-A fighters quietly left for other gyms. And those losers down there simply treated the vacancies as opportunities to climb the hierarchy.

Since Renji Kuroiwa’s disappearance, there is no longer anyone capable of setting the standard, no one strong enough to inspire the others, no one ambitious enough to drag the entire gym forward.

Even Kirizume himself cannot afford to be too harsh with Serrano, afraid that if Serrano walks away as well, the gym loses its only star.

As for bringing in a new star, that has become a luxury he can no longer afford to think about. Kirizume is already struggling just to keep the fighters currently under his roof.

***

Half an hour later, Kirizume pushes open the door to Nakahara’s new gym. And the difference is almost embarrassing.

Despite the clock not even reaching eight o’clock, the place is already alive. The first thing that greets him is the violent rhythm of leather being battered.

BANG!

BANG! BANG! BANG!

BANG! BANG!

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Aramaki is working the heavy bag with enough force to make the chains rattle overhead. Every punch carries the kind of intent that seems determined to tear through the target rather than merely hit it.

Across the gym floor, Kenta and Satoru move under Sera’s supervision. Both are wearing resistance suits that add weight to every motion, yet their shadowboxing remains crisp and disciplined.

Near the ring, Ryohei is already back despite fighting the night before. Not back to training, of course, only giving advice to a few younger boxers, occasionally demonstrating a movement with his hands before making the boys repeat it.

And then there is Okabe, face still looks like it lost a war, bruising colors half his cheek, yet the man is somehow arguing with Nakahara as loudly as ever.

“I said I’m fine! It’s hardly a fight!”

“No, you’re not.”

“I won.”

“And you got punched in the face for four rounds.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“You look like a traffic accident.”

“That’s just my normal face.”

Nakahara points directly at the swollen eye. “Then explain that to me. Decoration? Some kind of clown makeup? Or you’re just…”

Before Nakahara can continue the argument, his gaze suddenly shifts toward the entrance, finally realizing Kirizume standing there.

Nakahara watches him for a moment, then lets out a small sigh.

“Well,” he says as he comes over, “that’s a rare visitor.”

Kirizume doesn’t immediately acknowledge Nakahara’s approach. His attention remains fixed on the heavy bag across the gym, where Aramaki continues hammering away with relentless intensity.

It doesn’t take Nakahara long to realize where Kirizume’s attention is focused. And a cold scoff escapes him.

“Don’t tell me you’re here to spy on my fighter.”

Only then does Kirizume glance toward him. His expression remains dark and unreadable, offering nothing away.

Nakahara folds his arms. “What? You start thinking Serrano can’t beat Aramaki? Is that why you’re here? To study his preparation?”

The mention of the upcoming title fight briefly affects the atmosphere inside the gym. Several fighters pause their training just long enough to glance over.

But the interest lasts only a few seconds. Soon enough, they return to what they were doing. And that brief reaction tells Kirizume more than enough that this gym is no longer the place he remembers.

And even with Ryoma nowhere in sight, Kirizume can see his fingerprints everywhere; the atmosphere, the discipline, and the ambition.

“Where’s that kid?” he finally asks.

Nakahara blinks. “Whose kid?”

“Ryoma Takeda,” Kirizume says. “Where is he? I want to talk to him.”