VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma and Kurogane arrive far earlier than their scheduled appointment. The reception staff politely asks them to wait in the lobby.

Kurogane glances at his wristwatch for what feels like the fifth time in as many minutes.

”We’re thirty minutes early,” he mutters.

Ryoma simply nods. ”Better than making a first impression by being late.”

Several floors above them, inside a glass-walled meeting room, the morning briefing takes an unexpected detour.

”So...” one executive says, looking up from the visitor schedule. ”Ronin Fight Management?”

Another shrugs. ”I heard they’re putting together some absurd Tokyo Dome project.”

”That has nothing to do with us,” someone replies. ”We’re not a sports broadcaster.”

A brief silence follows before the Head of Content Acquisition leans back in his chair.

”Maybe not,” he says calmly. ”But I think we should hear him out. For the past two years, everything this kid has touched has turned into something people said couldn’t be done.”

Another executive raises an eyebrow. ”You really think this meeting matters?”

”I do.”

”Why?”

”Because people like him don’t walk into the wrong building by accident. If Ryoma Takeda specifically requested a meeting with NovaLink Media, I’m willing to bet he understands our business better than we’re giving him credit for.”

One of the executives lets out an amused laugh. ”Maybe he’ll tell us he received another tip from the future.”

The remark draws a round of quiet chuckles. Ever since the London purse bid, Ryoma’s ”information from the future” has become an industry ridiculous joke.

”Like London?” another replies. ”Winning the purse bid by exactly one dollar over the runner-up was absurd enough. Then he made it even worse by telling the press he’d received confidential information from the future,” says another.

”Come on,” another executive says with a laugh. ”Nobody actually believes that. It’s obviously just a joke. He was basically saying his prediction was so precise it looked as though he’d already seen the result.”

”Whatever the joke meant,” the Head of Content Acquisition says, ”it won him the purse bid. I’m interested to see whether he has another prediction waiting for us.”

He then reaches for the intercom on his desk and presses the button.

”Is Ryoma Takeda still waiting downstairs?”

[Yes, sir. ]

”Good. Please show Mr. Takeda and his companion up to my office.”

[Right away.]

After the line disconnects, no one suggests what to do next, yet all three men instinctively reach for their phones and tablets.

In near silence, they scroll through the same headlines, interviews, reports, and stories surrounding Ryoma Takeda, each quietly refreshing his memory about the young boxer whose name seems to have dominated Japan’s sports media over the past few years.

A few minutes later, three gentle knocks sound from the other side of the door.

”Come in,” the Head of Content Acquisition says.

The door opens just enough for an employee to appear. Rather than entering, she simply steps aside with a polite gesture toward the corridor.

”Mr. Takeda, Mr. Kurogane... please.”

Ryoma and Kurogane offer a respectful bow before walking into the office together, while the employee quietly closes the door behind them.

The Head of Content Acquisition is the first to rise, extending his hand across the table.

”Ryoma Takeda, I presume. I’m Shigeru Ishikawa.”

After a firm handshake, he gestures toward the other two men.

”This is Keisuke Ando, our Director of Business Strategy. And beside him is Kengo Hoshino, Executive Producer for Original Programming.”

Each offers a brief handshake before Ishikawa motions toward the empty chairs opposite them.

”Please. Have a seat.”

Formal introductions soon give way to lighter conversation. Rather than rushing straight into business, Ishikawa deliberately spends the next several minutes easing the atmosphere, steering the discussion through Ryoma’s recent rise, and the increasingly ambitious direction of Ronin Fight Management.

It is the sort of effortless hospitality that quietly reminds a guest he is welcome before asking anything of him. Even Kurogane, who had expected a far stiffer corporate meeting, gradually finds himself relaxing.

A few minutes later, an employee enters carrying a tray of freshly brewed coffee, placing a cup before each of them before quietly excusing herself from the room.

Ishikawa waits until everyone has taken a sip before setting his own cup back onto the saucer.

”Now then,” he says with an inviting smile, ”why don’t you tell us what brought you to NovaLink Media?”

Ryoma gently returns his cup to the table. The brief pause had been exactly what he needed.

”I’d like to talk about where the entertainment industry is heading... and why I believe NovaLink has a chance to arrive there before anyone else.”

The three executives exchange almost imperceptible glances. It isn’t the opening any of them had expected.

Most promoters begin by talking about ticket sales, television ratings, or sponsorship opportunities. Ryoma, on the other hand, has chosen to begin with the future of the entertainment industry itself.

Whatever proposal he has brought to NovaLink, it is already sounding considerably larger than the Tokyo Dome event that brought him here.

Keisuke Ando folds both hands on the table, his expression remaining courteous despite the skepticism now visible across his face.

”Mr. Takeda, before you go any further, allow me to make an assumption.” He offers a polite smile. ”If you’ve come here hoping to sell the broadcasting rights for your Tokyo Dome event, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong company.”

Beside him, Kengo Hoshino nods in agreement. ”NovaLink isn’t a conventional television broadcaster. We’re a subscription-based cable platform. Our subscribers come to us for films, dramas, documentaries, and general entertainment. Boxing isn’t part of our business, and quite frankly, our customers aren’t paying us because they’re looking for it.”

Ryoma smiles faintly. ”I know. I spent quite a bit of time studying NovaLink before requesting this meeting. But I’m not here because I misunderstand your business. I’m here because I believe your business is about to change.”

The answer catches all three executives slightly off guard, though none of them says anything. They exchange brief glances, choosing to let him continue.

”Most people are still asking whether consumers are willing to pay monthly subscriptions for sports,” Ryoma says. ”Personally, I don’t think that’ll even be the right question for much longer. Within two years, paying monthly subscriptions for digital content will become part of everyday life. It’ll simply become the new normal.”

He folds his hands loosely on the table. ”And once that happens, whether the model works for sports becomes almost irrelevant. The real question will be which companies had the foresight to prepare before everyone else arrived.”

His gaze shifts briefly toward the NovaLink logo mounted on the wall before returning to the three executives.

”The race has already begun. ESPN launched ESPN+ only a few months ago. DAZN is expanding aggressively, and several others have started experimenting with similar models. They’re all chasing the same opportunity, but none of them has actually proven the model yet, and no one has established dominance.”

Keisuke Ando leans back slightly, studying Ryoma more carefully before responding. ”You’re proposing that we enter a market where we’ve already lost the head start?”

”You still have every opportunity to grow alongside them,” Ryoma says. ”But if I may offer one piece of advice, I wouldn’t recommend trying to beat them by copying what they’re doing.”

That finally draws genuine curiosity from across the table. Ryoma isn’t just inviting them into a new market, but offering what appears to be a better way to compete there.

”Those big companies…” Ryoma begins, ”they have little choice but to spend enormous amounts of money acquiring exclusive seasonal rights. But I believe there’s a far lower-risk way to do it.”

From that moment on, the meeting quietly changes hands. The three executives who had begun the conversation politely humoring a young boxing promoter now find themselves listening like students attending an industry briefing.

Their impression of Ryoma begins to shift. Ryoma isn’t presenting nor is he claiming to have discovered something nobody else has considered. Instead, he methodically maps the broader shifts gradually reshaping the world, and how those changes will eventually redefine the way entire industries operate.

Every projection, every hypothesis, every explanation fits together so naturally that, for brief moments, it almost feels as though they are listening to someone calmly recalling memories of a world that hasn’t happened yet.

And every conclusion somehow circles back to the same place; how NovaLink benefits from it, and how to seize the opportunity now sitting quietly in front of them.

***

Nearly three hours later, Ryoma finally decides to end the meeting, explaining that he still wants to continue his training.

”Besides,” he adds, ”it’d be awkward if I convinced NovaLink to invest in boxing... then failed to become world champion myself.”

The three executives let out polite laughs, but none of them lasts very long. After everything Ryoma has laid before them, even a joke struggles to lift the weight still hanging over the room.

After one last handshake, Ryoma and Kurogane leave the room. The door closes behind them, leaving the three executives sitting in silence.

Keisuke Ando is the first to speak. ”...They said he’s only twenty-two. And he’s already talking about a new normal, as if he knew what this world would become.”

Kengo Hoshino lets out a quiet breath. ”A twenty-two-year-old boxer. Who also happens to run a promotion company.”

Keisuke slowly shakes his head. ”That still doesn’t explain how he could talk about all those changes as though they were already inevitable.”

”Not just inevitable...” Shigeru Ishikawa says, before looking toward the door Ryoma has just walked through. ”He spoke as though he’d already lived through them.”