VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Meanwhile, Patrick Doyle can no longer devote his full attention to overseeing Liam O’Connell’s preparation. For the past several days, his time has been increasingly consumed by matters outside the gym.

With the Tokyo Metropolitan Police keeping the investigation under wraps, public speculation has only intensified. And in the absence of official answers, much of that attention gradually shifts toward Liam O’Connell’s camp.

As a result, reporters begin appearing outside the training facility almost every day, waiting for Patrick Doyle the moment he steps outside.

”Mr. Doyle, many people believe your camp benefited the most if Ryoma Takeda couldn’t compete. How do you respond?”

Doyle lets out a quiet breath before answering. ”Liam has spent months preparing for this fight. If he’s intends to earn a shot at the world title, he’ll do it by beating Ryoma in the ring, not by hoping someone else gets hurt.”

”But…”

”There is no ’but,’” Doyle cuts in firmly. ”The Tokyo police haven’t accused us of anything. We won’t waste time responding to internet speculation.”

The statement is clear enough. Yet once it reaches television and social media, the discussion only grows louder.

The conversation refuses to disappear. If anything, it becomes one of the hottest topics surrounding boxing over the following days.

From a marketing perspective, the attention certainly helps. Just not in the way Ronin Fight Management expected.

The Manila incident became legendary because people saw it happen. Hotel surveillance footage showing Ryoma narrowly avoiding three gunshots spread across the world, turning disbelief into fascination.

But Tokyo offers no such images; only photographs of a wrecked convenience store, damaged vehicles, endless theories. The mystery keeps people talking, but it lacks the same emotional certainty that made Manila impossible to ignore.

Ten days before fight night, the numbers finally arrive. A little over eight thousand tickets have been sold. For most promoters, that would already qualify as a success.

For Ronin Fight Management, preparing to return to Yoyogi Gymnasium after last year’s historic sellout, it feels disappointingly short of expectations.

The second-floor meeting room is noticeably busier than usual. Sales reports, sponsorship contracts, venue layouts, and marketing projections cover nearly every available space across the conference table.

Several laptops remain open, displaying graphs that continue updating as new ticket sales come in. Kurogane stares silently at the latest report before rubbing his forehead.

”I don’t get it,” he exhales. ”We followed the same blueprint. Bigger fight. Bigger production. More international attention. So what exactly did we get wrong?”

Sera, sitting across from him, folds his arms before speaking. ”I don’t think we got anything wrong. I think we made the mistake of assuming the previous Yoyogi was something we could simply reproduce.”

He leans back slightly. ”Back then, everything aligned. Ryoma had just beaten Jade McConnel and forced his retirement. Then came the mandatory defense against Thanid Khoutai, a ONE Championship kickboxing champion known for his brutality.”

”There was also the dispute over whether the fight should be held in Bangkok or Tokyo. The purse bid itself became news. People couldn’t believe an OPBF title fight reached two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

”And because we secured Yoyogi so late, everyone started wondering whether we’d actually be able to fill nearly thirteen thousand seats.”

He shrugs. ”Each story attracted a different audience. Together, they became much larger than the fight itself. This time… we assumed Manila would replace all of that. But it didn’t.”

”The Manila incident created a legend. But Tokyo created a mystery. They’re not the same thing.”

Before the silence has a chance to settle again, Nobusawa gently rotates her laptop toward the others.

”If we’re only talking about ticket sales...” She smiles faintly. ”Then yes, this is below our expectations.”

Her finger moves down the spreadsheet. ”But financially?”

Another chart appears on the screen. ”The previous Yoyogi event generated approximately ¥263,835,500 in gross revenue.”

She clicks once more. ”This time, ten days before fight night, we’ve already secured fourteen million U.S. dollars from NSN, three million from Aqualis Labs as title sponsor.”

”One point six million dollars from secondary sponsorship packages. Another two point three million from regional broadcasting agreements across Asia, Oceania, and selected international markets.”

She pauses just long enough for everyone to process the figures. ”And don’t forget, we aren’t paying a single yen for a Vegas-level production provided by NSN.”

No one speaks immediately. The numbers are simply too large to ignore. Financially, the event has already surpassed everything Ronin Fight Management has ever organized, by a huge margin.

Kurogane studies the spreadsheet for several moments before slowly shaking his head.

”I know we’re making more money than ever,” he says. ”But look… we sold out Yoyogi for an OPBF title defense last year. And now we’re promoting a final world title eliminator, yet we still can’t even reach ten thousand.”

The room falls silent once again. No one disagrees with him, because despite the overwhelming financial success already secured, they all understand exactly what he means.

”Fair enough,” Nobusawa says. ”Then why don’t we lower the ticket prices? We’ve already secured enough profit from streaming rights and sponsorships.”

”We’ve done that,” Kurogane replies.

”Then lower them further,” Sera says.

”I’m thinking about that too,” Kurogane says. ”And I hope it works this time. Because we can’t keep lowering the prices. If we do, it’ll only make us look desperate and pathetic.”

***

Thousands of kilometers away, across the Pacific, the atmosphere inside NSN’s headquarters in New York is no less demanding. With only nine days remaining before Ryoma Takeda’s fight against Liam O’Connell, every department is focused on the same objective: turning the event into one of the biggest commercial successes in the company’s history.

On the top floor, however, the discussion is about to take a more personal turn. Without bothering to knock, Jackson pushes open the door to his father’s office.

”Fourteen million dollars,” he says with a faint grin. ”That’s an expensive way to support our favorite enemy.”

Logan Rhodes doesn’t look up from the documents on his desk. And Jackson simply strolls inside as though he owns the place.

”I’ve asked Reika to secure a few VIP tickets,” he says. ”One of them’s for you.

There is still no response from Logan. The project remains well below the figures he originally projected, enough to leave him less than satisfied. And Jackson notices it immediately.

No matter how composed Logan appears, Jackson has known him long enough to recognize the smallest cracks.

”So, should I congratulate the kid afterward?” Jackson teases him again. ”I don’t think anyone’s invested more in his career than you.”

And Logan understands his son just as well. At last, he sets the report down on his desk and looks up.

”You’re my son,” Logan says calmly. ”You learned this business from me. If anyone should understand what I’m doing, it should be you.”

Jackson raises both hands with an easy smile. ”I know, I know. You wanted to profit from the situation even if we couldn’t stop our competitor. I learned that much from you. But this one isn’t like Manila. And I’m afraid you miscalculated.”

Logan meets his son’s eyes without the slightest hint of doubt. ”I don’t miscalculate. Unless the Devil Himself decides to interfere.”

Jackson studies him for a brief moment. The smile disappears from his face, only to return a second later as he shrugs.

”I’m only trying to warn you,” he says before turning away. ”We should do something to salvage this before it’s too late.”

He reaches the door, then looks back over his shoulder with the grin of a spoiled child. ”Fourteen million dollars isn’t exactly pocket change, Daddy. I could’ve bought a lot of toys with that.”

The door closes behind Jackson. Logan remains seated in silence for several seconds, his eyes resting on the report lying across his desk.

Then he reaches for the intercom.

”Rachel.”

[Yes, Mr. Rhodes?]

”Clear my schedule this afternoon. And arrange a meeting with the marketing division.”

[Right away, sir.]

Logan releases the button and leans back in his chair.

Perhaps Jackson was worrying too early. Or perhaps not. Either way, Logan has never built an empire by waiting to find out.

***

Starting the very next day, every major NSN branch seemed to move in unison.

One program revisited the Manila shooting, replaying the hotel surveillance footage that had turned Ryoma Takeda into the man who supposedly dodged bullets.

Another shifted the discussion toward Tokyo, questioning whether the recent vehicular attack was truly an isolated incident or part of something much larger.

On another program, a different discussion was already underway.

”If someone wanted Ryoma Takeda out before fight night,” the host says, ”who benefits the most?”

”The obvious answer is Liam O’Connel,” one guest replies. ”I’m not saying his camp is involved. But until the police reveal more, people will naturally look at the fighter standing across the ring.”

The question quickly spread beyond television.

IS SOMEONE TRYING TO STOP RYOMA TAKEDA?

FROM MANILA TO TOKYO: COINCIDENCE OR A PATTERN?

WHY ARE TOKYO POLICE REMAINING SILENT?

WILL LIAM O’CONNEL FIGHT UNDER THE SHADOW OF SUSPICION?

Whether any of it is true hardly matters. The discussions keep spreading across television, newspapers, and online platforms, growing louder with each passing day. And wherever the conversation went, Ryoma Takeda remains at its center.

Behind his desk, Logan Rhodes follows every update; one report replaces another, one headline after another crosses his monitor.

PPV PRE-ORDERS SHOW STRONGEST SINGLE-DAY GROWTH SINCE THE MANILA EVENT.

SEARCH INTEREST FOR RYOMA TAKEDA CONTINUES TO SURGE.

AMERICAN VIEWERSHIP PROJECTION REVISED UPWARD.

Every narrative they encourage, every discussion they allow to grow, every headline they amplify ultimately serves the same purpose: Making Ryoma Takeda an even bigger attraction.

The irony isn’t lost on Logan. Every headline he reads, every article celebrating Ryoma Takeda’s survival, only adds to the man’s growing legend. And Logan hates every bit of it.

But if that was the price of protecting a fourteen-million-dollar investment, he could tolerate it.

At least, for now.