VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

On the flatscreen, Hamakawa sits in his corner with swollen face as his team tries to keep him together for another round. Even from the locker room, everyone can see that the fight has already changed.

For a brief moment, nobody sees Hamakawa anymore. The image on the screen shifts in their minds, replaced by Ryohei sitting in that same corner, battered and exhausted.

”Remember the bet we made,” Kurogane adds. ”Think about what happens if Ryohei loses to him. By tarnishing Ronin’s image, Umemoto would lure Ryoma to fight him.”

Nakahara’s face tightens. ”What are you talking about? Umemoto is a Super Lightweight.”

”Moving down to Lightweight is not a problem for him,” Kurogane says. ”If he becomes interim champion tonight, and Ryoma become WBO champion… Umemoto won’t waste time waiting for Ryohei to recover.”

He glances back at Ryoma. ”He’ll give up that title and come straight after you.”

Ryoma studies him for a moment before shrugging with little interest. ”Fortunately, Ryohei is in the hospital. And Ronin image will remain intact. But if he really wants a fight with me, I won’t run away. Still... my opponent is Miguel Cabello right now. As a manager, you know better than anyone that this isn’t the time to bring this up.”

Kurogane stares at Ryoma for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. ”Fine. Focus on Miguel Cabello.”

There is no frustration in his voice, only a sense of resignation. He already knows that no matter how carefully he explains it, Ryoma will always reduce everything to the fight directly in front of him.

As the bell rings to start the fourth round, Nakahara immediately turns toward Kenta.

”Start getting ready. This fight won’t last much longer.”

Kenta glances toward Ryoma for a moment. Part of him hopes that, before his fight, Ryoma will give him one of those brief mittwork sessions that always seem to sharpen every detail of his boxing.

But Ryoma’s entire attention remains fixed on the flatscreen, watching Umemoto. Despite everything he said moments ago, Kenta knows him well enough to see through it. Deep down, Ryoma has always carried the same urge to step into the ring with a fighter like Umemoto.

Eventually, Kenta lets out a small sigh and turns away.

”Of course...”

Without bothering to say anything, he moves to an empty space and begins light shadow boxing, letting his body warm up before his own fight.

***

Meanwhile, inside Miguel Cabello’s locker room, the atmosphere is completely different. There are no assistant coaches moving around, no staff members preparing equipment, and no one giving last-minute instructions before the biggest fight of the night.

Only four people remain inside the room. Miguel Cabello sits quietly in his corner, while his head coach, Jorge Rivera, stands nearby. The only other people who have yet to leave are Vaughan and Bowman.

”This country...” Bowman says as he continues watching Umemoto fights. ”They really love aggressive fighters. Grit. Guts. Determination. What do you call it? Samurai spirit? Bushido?”

Vaughan nods. ”An environment like that is exactly what shapes the great fighters this country produces.”

He then turns toward Cabello. ”But make no mistake. Your opponent, Ryoma Takeda, is still a young fighter with the best technique and the highest ring IQ in the world right now. And regardless of all those advantages, he will still come after you like an aggressive fighter.”

”Running around from him for twelve rounds won’t be an easy task,” Bowman adds. ”You saw the previous fight. You saw that Rikiya guy. He used the Cuban system too. And look how that Tatsumaki guy beat him.”

Cabello clicks his tongue. ”Don’t insult me by comparing me to a worthless fighter like him. Sure, his Cuban boxing is good. But there’s no substance behind it. And of course, his level is nowhere near mine.”

”The same goes for Ryoma Takeda,” Bowman argues. ”He isn’t a simple fighter like Aramaki. And I know you are not that stupid. Deep down, you can already see the most probable scenario.”

Cabello stares at him without hiding his contempt. For more than an hour, these people have remained inside this room, and all they have done is try to plant doubt in his mind.

For someone as arrogant and prideful as Cabello, everything they have said feels like a direct insult.

”Enough of this bullshit,” Cabello says. ”I’m not following some cheap, pathetic scheme you came up with. And understand this... my business with Ramirez ended the second he went to prison.”

Bowman calmly shakes his head. ”Yes. The moment he went to prison. But he will be out in three years. What happens after that?”

Cabello remains silent, and for the first time, a hint of concern appears on his face. The confidence and arrogance are still there, but the words from Bowman clearly reach him in a way the previous warnings did not.

Even Jorge Rivera, who has been standing nearby this entire time, does not dare interrupt their conversation.

The silence that follows lasts far longer than anyone expects. The sound of the fight continuing on the flatscreen fades into the background, and even Hamakawa’s spectacular victory is completely overlooked by everyone inside the room.

”There are only two outcomes for you right now,” Vaughan continues. ”You lose here, and your career is over. We won’t let you come back from that. Or you win, and from that point forward, you stay under our protection until Ramirez gets out.”

Cabello narrows his eyes. ”You think that after everything he has done, Ramirez will still have his license as a promoter?”

”Don’t pretend to be stupid,” Bowman replies. ”You know we can still do anything we need without a commission license. For example, the two judges for your fight tonight... that is already part of our plan.”

Bowman glances back at the flatscreen. ”But make no mistakes. Those judges won’t mean anything if the fight becomes too one-sided.”

Cabello’s expression tightens, his pride visibly taking a hit. He opens his mouth, ready to dismiss the idea, but before he can say anything, Vaughan cuts in with a cold voice.

”By the fifth or sixth round,” he says, ”your condition starts to decline, and from the seventh to the tenth you spend your time trapped in the corner, taking punishment… maybe even getting dropped once or twice. Even if you somehow survive until the final bell, nobody can hide a performance like that, not even the bribed judges.”

”Not when you got beaten half to death,” Bowman adds.

”Me? Get beaten half to death?” Cabello lets out a short laugh, clearly offended. ”You’re insulting me, Bowman. Don’t compare me to your weak little Mercer. I am Miguel Cabello, the best…”

”And it will be even worse if Ryoma Takeda finishes you before the tenth round,” Bowman adds, ignoring his reaction.

Cabello only stares at him with mad eyes. The silence between them lasts for a long moment until his attention shifts toward the flatscreen, where Kenta has already entered the arena together with Ronin’s management team.

Clicking his tongue, Cabello rises from his bench and begins preparing for his own fight. ”Get out of my way. I have a fight to win.”

”You should listen to us while you still have the chance,” Vaughan says calmly. ”Soon, the officials will start moving in and out of this room, and you won’t have this opportunity anymore.”

Cabello gives no response and simply begins his warm-up with shadow boxing. His movements are sharp and precise, every punch carrying the confidence and authority expected from a world champion. His performance is undeniably impressive, a reminder of why he has reached the top of the sport.

But Vaughan and Bowman remain unchanged in their assessment. No matter how impressive Cabello looks in this room, they still don’t want to take any risk.

Jorge Rivera feels the same uncertainty. As Cabello’s head coach, he has prepared every strategy he can think of, but deep down, he knows that most of their chances will still depend on Cabello’s own flair and instincts.

That instinct is what makes Cabello such a dangerous fighter; wild, unpredictable, and capable of creating moments nobody can anticipate. But it is also something that cannot always be relied upon.

***

A moment later, a medical staff member enters the room. Cabello stops his shadow boxing immediately. He knows this is the pre-fight medical check, so he returns to his bench and sits down.

However, something feels unusual. The medical staff member does not approach him. Instead, he simply stands beside Bowman, leaving Cabello slightly confused.

Meanwhile, both Bowman and Vaughan remain focused on the flatscreen, where Kenta is completely dominating Moses Ndlovu with a clean and commanding performance.

”You see that black guy over there?” Vaughan says. ”That’s the former WBO African Champion, currently ranked seventh in the WBO. But look at how easily he’s being beaten.”

”Kenta Moriyama,” Bowman adds. ”The most experienced athlete Ronin has. Fighting in Welterweight, the heaviest division in their gym. Good technique, strength, and ring IQ.”

He briefly glances toward Cabello. ”That’s their biggest fighter. And from what I’ve heard... Ryoma usually gets the better of him. Despite the difference in their size. And you think he would have trouble in beating you?”

Cabello remains visibly annoyed, but even he cannot ignore what is happening in front of him. Kenta’s performance is overwhelming, and Cabello knows no matter how dangerous Kenta looks, Ryoma is still the best fighter Ronin has.

Seeing the shift in Cabello’s face, Bowman gives a small nod toward the medical staff member. The man gives a faint nod, and then approaches Cabello. He places his equipment case down, and begins preparing for the examination.

But something immediately feels wrong. The pre-fight medical check is supposed to be simple; a heart rate check, blood pressure, pupil reaction, and confirmation that there are no existing injuries that could affect the fight. That is what Cabello expects.

Instead, the man reaches into his case and pulls out a syringe. He deliberately holds it where Cabello can see it.

”What the hell are you doing?” Cabello asks.

”Standard preparation,” the man says simply.

”Since when does standard preparation involve a syringe?”

”Only when it’s necessary.”