VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Serrano is the first to fire, driving a right hand down the middle. But Aramaki answers immediately, keeping his shoulder tight and sending a much shorter, more compact right of his own.

Another simultaneous exchange is about to unfold, but Aramaki’s punch arrives first.

BUGH!

The right hand crashes into Serrano’s collarbone and jolts him backward.

And by the time Serrano’s own right reaches its target, it’s more like a slap across Aramaki’s face, carrying little of the weight it was supposed to have.

Serrano leans backward, and Aramaki dips at the knees before slipping forward again, firing a series of compact punches aimed at the body.

The first two are blocked.

Dug. Dug.

The third digs into Serrano’s ribs.

Thud!

On the fourth punch, Serrano avoids the hook by leaning his torso backward.

”Aramaki’s pressure is relentless right now!”

”And yet look at Serrano! Even under that kind of pressure, he’s still finding ways to make punches miss.”

”That defense is keeping him alive in there!”

Another hook follows, this time aimed upstairs. Serrano blocks it again, then he dips his torso low to slip under the next hook, letting the punch sail over his back.

From that lowered position, he even manages to sneak a short punch into the left side of Aramaki’s body.

Thud!

But the impact isn’t enough to disrupt Aramaki’s balance. He keeps moving forward, refusing to give Serrano any room to breathe.

Another hook comes, and Serrano blocks again, then continues bending at the waist while dragging his legs backward to escape the pressure.

And every time he eventually links one of those bends into a swinging hook, Aramaki is ready to meet him with a punch of his own.

THUD!

BAM!!!

They freeze again, only briefly, before both men force another follow-up that leads straight into yet another simultaneous exchange.

BUGH!

Dsh!

”Oh-hoo!”

”They’ve crashed into each other again!”

”This is turning into a battle of nerve!”

”Both guys are willing to get hit if it means landing first!”

Somehow, it becomes a repeat of the previous sequence, almost in the same manner. Both fighters keep throwing at the same time, and for the first time all night, the crowd unleashes a continuous roar that refuses to die down.

”That’s the danger of fighting like this!”

”They aren’t taking turns anymore!”

”Every exchange is becoming a race to see who lands first!”

”And when both guys are willing to throw at the same time, somebody’s eventually going to get hurt!”

The exchanges continue, but the difference between them is becoming impossible to miss. Aramaki keeps advancing, and Serrano keeps leaning backward while dragging his legs behind him like a drunkard trying to stay upright.

It isn’t fear of the exchanges, nor fear of Aramaki’s punches. It’s simply the consequence of a terrible structure.

***

Then, after finally creating a sliver of space for himself, Serrano changes again. Instead of leaning backward, he folds forward at the waist.

His shoulders dip, and his torso begins rocking side to side in an uneven rhythm, almost as though he is listening to a different beat from everyone else in the arena.

The sudden posture makes Aramaki hesitate. The body is no longer an easy target. Serrano’s folded stance hides much of his midsection while placing his head closer than his torso.

For a brief moment, Aramaki studies the movement, trying to understand the pattern and pick out a clean opening.

But he doesn’t wait long. Two hooks come first.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Serrano ducks beneath both.

A straight follows, and Serrano blocks.

Dug!

An uppercut rises toward the middle. And Serrano straightens just enough and leans away from it.

Then another straight shoots forward, but Serrano’s glove redirect it off line.

Pak!

”What is Serrano doing?!”

”Aramaki just threw five punches and didn’t land a clean one!”

And the moment Aramaki’s combination ends, Serrano fires back. His left arm swings outward and smacks into the side of Aramaki’s body.

Thud!

Aramaki barely acknowledges it, plants his feet and drives a straight left into Serrano’s chest.

BUGH!

”There it is! Aramaki finally gets a clean one through!”

”And look at the difference in impact! Serrano’s shot barely slows him down, but that left hand just shoved the champion straight onto the ropes!”

The impact knocks Serrano backward a full step until his back meets the ropes. And there, the strange defense returns. He bows forward again, rocking his torso with that same uncertain rhythm.

Aramaki pauses again, reading, looking confused.

A single hook shoots out…

Whoosh!

…but misses.

He stops again, visibly trying to understand what he’s looking at.

”Aramaki’s confused!”

”Yeah, because this isn’t a normal defensive rhythm anymore!”

Eventually, Aramaki chooses the simplest answer, sending an uppercut through the middle. The punch forces Serrano to straighten and lean backward to avoid it.

And the moment that happens, Aramaki surges forward. He crowds Serrano against the ropes before the champion can fold forward again.

The room needed for that awkward rocking motion disappears instantly. And two short punches begin digging into the body.

Thud!

Thud!

Serrano answers with a quick left to the side of the head…

Dsh!

… knocking Aramaki’s head to the side.

And the moment Serrano starts another follow-up, Aramaki immediately threatens him with yet another simultaneous exchange.

However…

Ding!

The bell rings, and the referee immediately wedges himself between them.

”Stop! Stop! It’s the bell!”

The exchange ends, but the arena doesn’t cool down. If anything, the noise only grows louder after the bell.

”That’s what we’re talking about!”

”Keep fighting like that, champ!”

”Let’s go, Serrano!”

”That’s the Leo we paid to see!”

The cheers overwhelmingly gravitate toward Serrano. Even in a round filled with momentum swings and pressure from Aramaki, it is still Serrano’s flair and willingness to fight outside the structure that ignite the spectators more than anything else.

Aramaki simply turns away and begins walking toward his corner without expression. He keeps his gaze lowered toward the canvas, maintaining the same composure he has carried throughout the fight.

Serrano, meanwhile, doesn’t move right away. He remains where he is, chin raised, shoulders loose, watching Aramaki’s back as the challenger walks away.

The arrogance is impossible to miss, like a mafia boss silently judging a subordinate after a reprimand, standing there as though the entire ring still belongs to him.

To anyone looking from the outside, Serrano appears completely convinced that he is still the one in control.

One of the commentators lets out a laugh. ”You see that?”

His partner chuckles as well. ”Yeah. Aramaki looks like a guy leaving the office after finishing his shift, and Serrano’s standing there like he just collected somebody’s debt. The funny thing is, I honestly don’t know which one of them thinks he won that round more.”

Across the ring, Kirizume watches the scene and, for the first time in several rounds, feels some of the tension leave his shoulders.

He exhales slowly and allows himself a small nod. At least for the moment, Kirizume decides he will stop pulling on the leash and simply let him have his way.

What nobody realizes, however, is that Serrano doesn’t remain there out of pure arrogance. Beneath the act, his legs are still trembling from the accumulated body work.

The soreness hasn’t disappeared with the bell. It lingers deep inside his thighs and calves, quietly reminding him of everything Aramaki forced him through during the round.

Serrano stays where he is for a few extra seconds, giving his body time to settle while making sure nobody notices.

Only when the trembling eases slightly does Serrano finally begin walking toward his corner. His chin remains high. His shoulders stay loose.

Every step carries the same familiar swagger, as though he is merely taking a casual stroll through the park rather than returning from one of the hardest rounds of the fight so far.

He manages to fool everyone in the arena.

But not Ryoma’s eyes.