VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Tachibana remains quiet for a moment after Ryoma gives his answer. His expression does not change much, but there is a subtle shift in the way he studies the young boxer, as if reassessing the value of what he is hearing.

”I appreciate the information,” Tachibana finally says, his tone returning to professional distance. ”But we already have specialists handling criminal profiling and interrogation. We will proceed through standard procedure.”

He pauses briefly, then continues. ”Still… about Hugo Ramirez. You seem unusually certain for someone making an external assumption. Why him?”

Ryoma shrugs. ”Because I’ve been dealing with people like him for years.”

Neither Tachibana nor Shibata interrupts. They know that’s not enough to make an assumption, so they let Ryoma continues.

”Go on,” Tachibana says.

”Right after I won the OPBF title,” Ryoma continues, ”Miguel Cabello defeated Renji Kuroiwa here in Japan. At the time, I was ranked seventh in the WBC. Cabello was ranked third. After the fight, reporters asked him about potential opponents, and he publicly expressed interest in fighting me. So naturally, we sent the offer.”

”And?” Tachibana asks.

”And suddenly nobody was interested anymore.” Ryoma leans back in his chair. ”Not just Cabello. We approached the fighters ranked fourth and fifth as well. No response. The same thing happened again and again.”

”They were blocking your path?” Shibata asks.

Ryoma nods. ”I tried the WBA route too. Same result. Eventually, I realized they weren’t only looking at me as a boxer. They were looking at me as a commodity they couldn’t control.”

”Commodity?” Tachibana raises an eyebrow. ”You are seeing yourself like a commodity?”

Ryoma gives a small shrug. ”That’s the reality of professional boxing. Fighters are assets. Revenue streams. Investments. The problem is that I don’t belong to any major promotional structure. Even the WBO noticed it too. One of their representatives actually approached me and encouraged me to move into their circuit. They told me directly that people in the WBC and WBA were effectively isolating me.”

For the first time, both detectives fall silent. The explanation is simple enough, but neither man expected the politics behind professional boxing to resemble the kind of power struggles normally found in government offices or large corporations.

”And somebody would kill an athlete over that?” Tachibana mutters.

Shibata lets out a dry laugh. ”Where money moves, crime follows. You should know that better than anyone.”

”And we’re not talking about small money,” Ryoma adds. ”Global boxing generates absurd amounts of it. Promoters can make fortunes from a single major event.”

He glances toward them. ”To give you an idea, I invested about two hundred thirty thousand dollars into the Manila event. I came home with more than three million.”

That earns a visible reaction from Detective Tachibana. ”Three million?”

”From a single event,” Ryoma says. ”And that was only my share as an investor.”

Shibata points at Tachibana immediately. ”You may have forgotten this, but Ryoma isn’t only a boxer. He’s also a promoter. Probably the most successful young promoter in Japan right now.”

”I became one because I didn’t have much choice,” Ryoma says. ”The same problem existed from the beginning of my career. My path through the domestic scene kept getting blocked, so I moved into the OPBF circuit instead. But the more successful I became, both as an athlete and promoter, the more enemies I created.”

He looks at the two detectives, raising an eye with a knowing smile. ”You probably understand that better than anyone. If a police officer rises too quickly and starts attracting too much attention, people above him might start feeling uncomfortable.”

”Hey, hey...” Shibata immediately cuts in. ”Let’s not touch that topic.”

Ryoma smirks. ”I didn’t mention any names, Superintendent.”

”Right,” Tachibana says, steering the conversation back. ”I understand the business side now. But Hugo Ramirez isn’t the only person who avoided you. Why single him out?”

”Because of what happened after Manila,” Ryoma says, his expression slightly more serious. ”After that event, I deliberately provoked both Cabello and Ramirez. I wanted to see how they reacted.”

”I remember that,” Shibata says. ”You challenged Cabello publicly.”

”And Cabello accepted,” Ryoma replies. ”Which sounds important until you understand how boxing works. A fighter’s words don’t mean much. Almost immediately, Ramirez took control of the narrative. He pushed for a final title eliminator between me and Liam O’Connel.”

”Okay,” Tachibana exhales. ”You’ve convinced me that he has a motive to target you. But that’s still a long way from proving attempted murder.”

”I’m not finished yet,” Ryoma says flatly.

Tachibana nods once. ”Go on.”

”When I traveled to Canada to discuss the fight,” Ryoma continues, ”I ran into Hugo Ramirez himself.”

That finally causes Shibata to look up. ”At Liam O’Connel’s camp? What’s he doing there?”

”Strange, isn’t it?” Ryoma says rhetorically. ”Ramirez operates out of Miami. Liam O’Connel is Canadian. I’m Japanese. Yet somehow Ramirez is walking out of O’Connel’s camp right when negotiations are taking place.”

A brief silence follows as both detectives begin connecting the dots.

”And then things became even stranger,” Ryoma adds. ”When I started talking with O’Connel’s management, they suddenly wanted the fight moved to Las Vegas instead of Toronto.”

Tachibana and Shibata exchange a glance. The implication is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore now.

”So you’re saying Ramirez was trying to lure you to America?” Tachibana asks.

”So he could repeat whatever he tried to do in Manila,” Ryoma replies. ”That’s my conclusion.”

”And O’Connel’s people actually told you that?” Shibata says. ”If so, their testimony could be very useful.”

”You’re welcome to try,” Ryoma says. ”You’ll probably have a chance when they arrive in Japan.”

Then he weakly shakes his head. ”But they never said Hugo Ramirez wanted me dead. What they admitted was that moving the fight to Las Vegas was Ramirez’s idea. The rest came from how they reacted when I connected one fact to another.”

He leans back slightly, looking almost indifferent to the significance of what he’s describing.

”I spent hours earning their trust,” he says. ”Once people stop seeing you as a threat, they start saying things they normally wouldn’t. That’s why they eventually walked away from Ramirez’s proposal and chose to work with me instead. It’s also how I ended up securing the hosting rights for the Yoyogi event.”

The way the two adults see Ryoma suddenly changes. For the first time since the conversation began, the issue is no longer whether Hugo Ramirez is guilty.

It is whether a twenty-two-year-old boxer somehow managed to navigate negotiations involving international promoters, title eliminators, and multi-million-dollar events, then quietly extract information from people who had every reason to stay silent.

Detective Tachibana can even see now that Ryoma’s earlier claim about being skilled in mind games is not just empty confidence or exaggeration, but something backed by real experience.

But still, he is not willing to let a mere twenty-two-year-old boxer step into the role of solving a case that belongs to the police.

Experience and authority matter, and no matter how sharp Ryoma’s deductions may be, this is still their responsibility.

He straightens slightly, closing the file in front of him. ”Thank you for your cooperation. Your information will be taken into account during the investigation.”

He stands up, signaling the end of the discussion. ”For now, that will be all. If we need anything further, we will contact you again.”

Without waiting for further response, he turns toward the door.

Shibata also stands up, but before leaving he takes a moment to shake Ryoma’s hand. ”Two of my men will come here shortly. They’ll be assigned to ensure your safety until this case is resolved.”

”Only two?” Ryoma asks.

Shibata blinks. ”Is that not enough? Would you prefer five? Or ten?”

Ryoma falls silent for a moment, quickly realizing that too many guards would only restrict his own privacy and movement.

”No, that’s enough,” he says. ”I appreciate it. I can’t thank you enough.”

Shibata nods with a small smile. ”Then please remain here. They will arrive soon.”

After that, he leaves the room, clearly in a hurry to catch up with Tachibana, who has already stepped out ahead of him.

***

Outside, Tachibana glances back briefly, Shibata now walking alongside him.

”He’s sharp,” he says quietly. ”Too sharp for a boxer.”

Shibata raises an eyebrow. ”That sounds like praise.”

Tachibana doesn’t deny it. ”If he weren’t a boxer, I would seriously consider recruiting him into investigations.”

Shibata lets out a light chuckle. ”I doubt he’d accept. The money he makes as a promoter can’t really be compared to what we earn working here.”

Then he lightly bumps Tachibana with his elbow, almost teasing, before adding, ”So why don’t we let him talk to them? We might as well see how he handles it.”

Tachibana immediately turns his head. ”Sir, we are not children. We cannot allow a civilian to step into an active interrogation and start playing detective. If word gets out, it will become a procedural nightmare.”

”Then don’t tell anyone,” Shibata replies casually.

Tachibana pauses. ”You’re serious?”

”I am curious,” Shibata says. ”And so are you. Don’t pretend otherwise. I’ve been following his career. His interviews too. That boy isn’t normal.”

Tachibana exhales through his nose. ”What if he fails? It could disrupt our interrogation strategy.”

Shibata’s tone stays relaxed, almost amused. ”I don’t think it won’t affect too much even if he fails. After all, he’s their target already. If we let him talk to them, even briefly, we might learn something useful from how they react to him.”

Tachibana doesn’t respond immediately, continuing to walk in silence. For the first time, the idea no longer feels absurd to him.

It is still unconventional and risky, but not dismissible anymore, just dangerous enough to warrant consideration.