VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Then, almost imperceptibly, the smile in the phantom’s face changes; the irritating smirk disappears, replaced by something calmer and infinitely more unsettling.

Ryoma’s brow slowly furrows. The uneasiness lingering beneath his skin refuses to leave.

”...Enough,” he mutters. ”Stop showing me that face.”

The phantom tilts its head slightly. ”Whose face do you want now?”

”Miguel Cabello.”

”Switching to sparring mode?”

”Yeah.”

Ryoma turns away and walks toward the bench at the edge of the gym.

”But give me a minute. I need a short break.”

Without another word, the phantom dissolves. Its body fades into a translucent silhouette before unraveling into countless blue strands of light that drift lazily through the air.

The strands weave together again, gradually turning into Miguel Cabello, with Cabello’s familiar arrogant smirk, every bit as punchable as Ryoma remembers.

”Better?” Cabello grins. ”I bet you’re already dying to punch me.”

Ryoma still feels discomfort. At least it doesn’t unsettle him the way seeing himself smile just moments earlier had.

Just as he reaches for a bottle of Surge Blue, however, three familiar figures step inside the gym and steal Ryoma’s attention.

”You guys...” Ryoma mutters.

”Good afternoon,” Hoshino greets.

”I hope we’re not interrupting your training,” Shigeru says with a polite smile.

Meanwhile, Keisuke Ando lets his eyes wander across the unusually quiet gym. He takes in the empty ring, the silent heavy bags, and the rows of unused equipment before a faint smile slowly appears on his face.

”I thought we’d be greeted by at least three champions here?”

Ryoma walks toward them, twisting open the cap of the Surge Blue bottle.

”They’re all at the training camp in Nagano.”

”And you?” Ando asks. ”Don’t tell me you stayed behind because you were hoping we’d have our second meeting.”

”Yeah, I was expecting you guys to stop by.” Ryoma takes a drink before lowering the bottle again. ”I just didn’t think it’d happen this soon.”

A quiet laugh escapes Ando. ”So, can we talk business now, or should I make an appointment first?”

Ryoma glances at the sweat soaking through his training shirt before tilting his head toward the staircase leading to the second floor.

”If you don’t mind talking to someone who’s still covered in sweat, we can talk in my office.”

Without another word, he turns and starts walking toward the stairs, while the three visitors follow behind him.

Just as they reach the second floor, Toyama happens to be coming from the opposite direction with a stack of documents tucked under one arm.

”Toyama,” Ryoma calls.

”Yes?”

”Could you prepare some coffee for our guests?”

”Of course.”

Toyama gives a quick nod before heading toward the pantry while Ryoma disappears down the corridor with Ando, Shigeru, and Hoshino.

A few minutes later, a tray carrying four cups of freshly brewed coffee leaves the pantry in Toyama’s hands.

As he passes the management office, the door slides open. Kurogane steps out, absentmindedly holding an empty coffee mug.

He notices the tray immediately.

”We’ve got visitors?”

Toyama nods. ”Three of them. They’re in Ryoma’s office.”

”Who?”

”No idea.”

Toyama continues walking, but Kurogane immediately raises a hand.

”Wait. Let me take these.”

He lifts the tray from Toyama’s hands and hands over his own empty mug to Toyama. Before Toyama can say anything, Kurogane has already turned toward the end of the corridor.

The office door is still open when he arrives. Inside, Ando has already moved past the small talk.

”...Which is why we’re seriously considering your proposal,” he says. ”As quickly as possible, we’d like to develop a dedicated boxing program. Not only for the Japanese market, but for our subscribers across several neighboring countries as well.”

Behind Ryoma, an entirely different spectator occupies the CEO’s chair. That Phantom Miguel Cabello lounges comfortably behind the desk, his boxing boots rest shamelessly atop the polished tabletop. No one else in the room pays him the slightest attention because only Ryoma can see him.

Kurogane slows his steps as he approaches the coffee table, careful not to interrupt the conversation any more than necessary.

One by one, he places a cup of coffee in front of each guest before setting the last one in front of Ryoma. But Ryoma simply lifts the bottle of Surge Blue still in his hand, then tilts his head slightly toward an empty chair.

Kurogane immediately understands the invitation.

”Well... if you insist.”

He slides into the chair without ceremony, pulls the untouched cup of coffee back toward himself, and smiles as though he had intended to stay all along.

”So...” Kurogane begins, ”I heard you’re interested in the proposal we presented the last time.”

Ando nods. ”We are. But since this is still an experimental venture for us, I hope Ronin would be willing to lower the price.”

”Sure,” Ryoma answers without hesitation. ”Three million U.S. dollars. But in return, the content rights will be reduced to just thirty days after each event.”

The three NovaLink executives exchange quick glances, with the subtle nods enough to tell one another they can live with those terms.

”I can accept that,” Ando says at last.

”And,” Ryoma continues, ”once this boxing program officially goes into production, Ronin’s events will receive priority placement over every other promoter’s. At the very least, that arrangement remains in effect until February 2022.”

”No problem,” Ando replies almost immediately. ”If I may ask, how frequently are you plan to stage events after Tokyo Dome?”

”Within every three-month period,” Ryoma begins, ”there will be at least one international event, one regional event, and one domestic event. And here’s the advantage for NovaLink. Every one of those events will be licensed under a fixed-rate agreement.”

”Fixed rate?” Ando echoes, one eyebrow lifting with obvious interest.

Ryoma nods. ”Three million U.S. dollars for every international event. One million for every regional event. Five hundred thousand for every domestic event.”

A faint smile appears on his face. ”I have a feeling those numbers will look remarkably cheap once inflation catches up over the next few years.”

The room falls quiet for a few moments. Ando doesn’t rush his answer. He simply sits back, weighing the proposal in silence. Beside him, neither Hoshino nor Shigeru interrupts. Both merely glance toward their director, content to let the decision rest where it belongs.

Across the table, Kurogane shifts ever so slightly in his chair. He says nothing, but the faint crease between his brows betrays a quiet uneasiness. He clearly isn’t convinced by the arrangement Ryoma has just offered, yet he can’t simply challenge it when negotiations already underway.

Ando finally breaks the silence. ”I think we have an agreement. But I’d still like both legal teams to review everything before we put our names on anything.”

”Of course,” Ryoma replies. ”I’ll have Ronin’s legal department prepare the first draft and send it to NovaLink tomorrow.”

Ando nods. ”That works for us.”

The atmosphere immediately becomes lighter afterward, and another five minutes pass before everyone finally rises from their seats.

***

Moments later, Ryoma and Kurogane see the three NovaLink executives out of the building, exchanging one final bow before quietly heading back inside. Throughout the entire walk, Kurogane keeps every objection to himself.

As the company car pulls away, silence lingers for a while before Hoshino lets out a quiet chuckle.

”That kid just left millions on the table.”

Shigeru shakes his head. ”Or he’s buying something more valuable than money.”

Ando keeps his eyes on the road ahead. ”Trust. He wants us thinking long-term. Nobody negotiates like that by accident.”

Back inside Ronin Gym, the entrance door has barely slid shut before Kurogane can no longer hold himself back.

”Have you completely lost your mind?”

Ryoma turns to him. ”What?”

”They’re not just a Japanese media company,” Kurogane says impatiently. ”NovaLink covers Japan, Korea, China, Hong Kong, and several Southeast Asian markets. And you practically locked yourself into those small fixed rates until February 2022.”

”I’m doing it for this company’s future,” Ryoma says flatly.

”The future?” Kurogane repeats. ”You clearly know how inflation works. Yet you still give them fixed rate. What the hell are you thinking? What kind of future you are seeing now?”

Ryoma doesn’t answer immediately. He walks a few more steps toward the ring before speaking over his shoulder.

”I’ve been expecting the market to become extremely difficult around the middle of 2019. Difficult enough that we’d struggle to fill even half of Korakuen Hall.”

Kurogane’s face twists in disbelief. ”What the hell is that supposed to mean? You got another message from the future?”

”I do,” Ryoma replies flatly as he keeps walking toward the ring.

”Cut the crap,” Kurogane says, refusing to let the conversation die. ”Where’s that data coming from? Is this about the 2020 Olympics? You think it’ll dominate public attention and make it harder for us to stay relevant?”

Ryoma stops at the apron and turns around. This time, the coldness in his eyes makes Kurogane feel strangely pressured.

”The 2020 Olympics are the last thing you should be worried about.”

Kurogane frowns. ”Then what? World War Three?”

”Pandemic.”

”…What?”

”You heard me.” Ryoma’s voice remains unnervingly calm. ”The entire world goes into lockdown. People start working from home. We might still be allowed to stage boxing events... but under restrictions that prevent large crowds from gathering in one place. By then, you’ll understand why I negotiated those terms with them until February 2022.”