VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

To Serrano, this is simply what he has come to understand from the new concepts he recently adopted: keep the legs alive, keep changing angles, never stay in front of the opponent longer than necessary, and always find a new angle after striking.

He likes that philosophy. Not only because it works, but because it allows him to express himself. The constant shuffling, the footwork, the rhythm flowing through his body. It all feels natural to someone who treats fighting as entertainment as much as competition.

And indeed, Serrano continues entertaining the crowd while comfortably maintaining control of the fight over the next two rounds.

Then, by the middle of the fourth round, Serrano looks even more energized. He breaks into a more exaggerated shuffle, his feet bouncing and gliding across the canvas as though he were moving to a song only he could hear inside a crowded pub.

Then, right in the middle of that rhythm, he pivots sharply off an angle and snaps two quick lefts straight through Aramaki’s guard.

Pop!

Pop!

Both punches land clean on the chest and collar bone, and a ripple of cheers rises from the crowd.

”There you go, champ!”

”Keep dancing on him, Leo!”

Before Aramaki can reset, Serrano shuffles left again, rolls his shoulders to the beat, and whips a lead hook into the body.

Thud!

The audience responds even louder this time.

”There it is!”

”Now that’s the Serrano people paid to watch!”

Serrano glides away with a small bounce in his step, one glove briefly raised toward the crowd as if acknowledging applause between dance moves.

But every time Aramaki sends that same high-low probing jab and Serrano responds by angling out, Ryoma’s voice follows from the corner.

”Don’t rush, Aramaki! Let him tire himself out with all that movement.”

Serrano hears every word. And with each repetition, the irritation grows.

”Shut up and watch, asshole!”

He throws a few jabs. Aramaki blocks it well, and from them, he can feel there is more weight behind them, and the urgency beneath the smooth footwork.

Aramaki also begins to understand something else. The philosophy behind Serrano’s style constantly encourages movement. Even when Serrano isn’t attacking, he rarely stops moving his feet. He walks, shuffles, pivots, side-steps, changes direction, and resets angles over and over again.

Compared to that, Aramaki is barely moving at all, aside from the occasional side step used to subtly herd Serrano toward the ropes without ever rushing the process.

Serrano even starts adding more upper-body rhythm into the mix, rocking his torso from side to side, creating decoys before slipping away toward another angle. His punch output isn’t particularly high, but his legs never seem to stop working.

***

As the fight moves into the fifth round, the pattern remains largely unchanged. Serrano continues to win most of the exchanges, controlling both the tempo of the fight and the scorecards.

Yet despite losing those exchanges, Aramaki rarely absorbs anything truly damaging. He continues his patient pursuit, conserving energy while forcing the champion to shoulder the burden of movement almost every second of the fight.

Meanwhile, from the corner, Ryoma keeps quietly feeding the fire, looking for ways to irritate Serrano and pull him away from the discipline of the system he is trying so hard to follow.

”Good. Don’t chase him. He’s doing all the work for you.”

Aramaki shows the same high-low probing sequence again, neither jab coming close to touching his opponent.

This time, however, Serrano plants his feet and lingers just a little longer, clearly threatening a counter.

”Is that really all you’ve got?”

Aramaki sees the shift on Serrano’s legs, and immediately resets his position, waitting for the champion to commit.

But the punch never comes. The moment the shot begins to leave his shoulder, Serrano cuts it short. He smoothly shifts off-line with an L-step and glides into a new angle.

And once again, Ryoma’s voice follows him from the corner. ”Relax, Aramaki. Champions aren’t supposed to look this desperate to stay out of range.”

Kirizume’s expression tightens slightly. After watching the same sequence repeat several times, he finally begins to understand what Ryoma is trying to do.

”Good work, Leo!” he calls out. ”That short guy can’t reach you from there. Let him keep throwing those jabs if he’s too scared to step in.”

For a while, Serrano follows the instruction. He keeps circling, keeps changing angles, and refuses to bite on the bait.

But only for a while. The same high-low probing setup keeps appearing in front of him, over and over again, and eventually it becomes too tempting to ignore.

The next time Aramaki shows it, Serrano subtly drives his lead foot forward to anchor his balance and fires a straight right down the middle.

Aramaki resets immediately, raising his guard, and...

Dug!

The punch crashes into his raised glove instead of finding its target.

Still, Aramaki doesn’t throw anything back, actually stepping back with a subtle pendulum step. There is no cue from Ryoma yet, and for now he sticks to the plan.

A few moments later, he shows the exact same setup again. And this time, Serrano doesn’t hesitate anymore.

Another right hand shoots forward.

Dug.

Again, Aramaki blocks and takes a step back.

Serrano immediately follows with two quick left hands. This time, however, there is a hint of impatience behind them.

Rather than letting his feet carry him into position first, he lunges slightly to reach Aramaki. On the second jab, Serrano’s rear foot lifts briefly off the canvas. And the punch clips Aramaki’s cheek.

Dug.

Dsh!

Aramaki’s head pulls back at the same moment, not from the impact itself but from his own attempt to take some of the sting off the shot.

”Good shot from Serrano!”

”That’s enough to get Korakuen roaring again!”

It is hardly a damaging blow, but the crowd doesn’t care. A loud reaction rolls through the arena the moment they see the punch land clean, and the noise only adds more fuel to Serrano’s growing confidence.

Serrano begins throwing more left hands while circling, keeping the same rhythm but with noticeably more urgency behind it.

The punches still come from range, still built around movement and angles. On the surface, it looks as though Serrano is simply following Kirizume’s instructions and making proper use of his reach.

Yet Ryoma’s attention is no longer on the shots themselves, but on Serrano’s feet. Every time Serrano reaches a little farther than he should, the rear foot lifts ever so slightly off the canvas.

Finally, one of the bad habits has surfaced, and Ryoma suddenly slams the apron three times.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The sound immediately catches Kirizume’s attention. His brows draw together by curiousity.

The round is still far from over. There is well over a minute remaining before the bell. It is far too early for any kind of ten-second warning.

There has to be a meaning behind it. Kirizume tries to decipher the signal, turning it over in his mind as he watches the opposite corner. Yet no explanation comes to him.

Inside the ring, however, Aramaki understands immediately. That is the cue he has been waiting for.

Three slams; permission granted.

The high-low probing setup is no longer just a setup.

From this point forward, he is allowed to chain it into the three alternative follow-ups.

Aramaki subtly lowers his level and extends his guard slightly farther forward, settling into a longer frame. His left hand begins moving just enough to draw attention without revealing intent.

Serrano notices immediately. He stops the jab, his eyes lock onto the lead hand as he recognizes the familiar setup returning once again.

”This simpleton really has nothing else to do...”

Expecting the same sequence, Serrano waits, preparing himself for the counter.

Aramaki flicks the first probing jab high, then comes the second toward the midsection.

Serrano doesn’t move. The body jab looks too far away to touch him anyway. He just watches, and his right fist tightens.

But the moment the second jab reaches its extension, Aramaki explodes forward.

The Cobra Shot fires from a low angle, his right hand snapping upward in a straight line as his body surges behind it.

It catches Serrano off guard…

”What the..?”

Dhuack!

The punch shoots directly through the gap between Serrano’s gloves before he can close them.

His head snaps backward. And for a split second, the entire arena freezes.

”HE GOT HIM!”

As the familiarity sinks in, Korakuen finally explodes.

”He finally showed it!”

”That’s Aramaki’s Cobra Shot!”

”Let’s go, Aramaki!”

And Aramaki doesn’t stop there. While Serrano is still trying to recover his balance, Aramaki steps deeper into range and plants his lead foot between Serrano’s stance, disrupting his center of gravity as he closes the distance until they’re nearly chest to chest.

Serrano reacts immediately. Both gloves come up against Aramaki’s shoulders as he leans his head away, an instinctive adjustment driven by the expectation that another shot is coming for his face.

Instead, Aramaki works on the body; a left hand digs into the ribs, and a chopping right crashes deep into the middle.

Thud!

BUGH!

The commentators practically leap out of their seats.

”Here we go, folks!”

”This is what we’ve been waiting for!”

”He started it with the Cobra Shot, and now he’s forcing the fight into close range!”

”And look at the pressure! He’s not giving Serrano the room to dance away this time!”

Serrano keeps retreating, both hands working frantically to create space while his torso and head lean farther and farther backward, leaving his balance in a terrible position.

Aramaki doesn’t let him escape. He stays attached to the champion’s chest, following every step and cutting off every attempt to reset.

Rather than headhunting, he keeps digging downstairs, driving one body shot after another into Serrano’s midsection.

Thud! BUGH!

Thump! Dug. Dugh. BUGH! THUD!

Each punch lands with compact efficiency as Aramaki steadily marches forward, forcing Serrano to spend more energy surviving the exchange than creating an exit from it.