VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Cabello leans slightly toward Ryoma, who still stands behind his high guard. The referee immediately steps between them, preventing any unnecessary confrontation.

But Cabello doesn’t back away, forcing to peer into the narrow gap between Ryoma’s gloves.

”Hey, kid. The bell already rang.”

Ryoma’s expression hardens. After a short pause, he lowers his gloves while turning on his heel, and walks back toward the blue corner.

Cabello watches him go with a satisfied nod, his head nodding in satisfaction before turning to his own corner.

He even swaggers back toward his corner in an easy gangsta 2-step, his elbows held out wide while his feet dancing in subtle tiptoes to the R&B rhythm echoing inside his head.

”Cabello’s actually dancing all the way back to his corner,” the first commentator says with a laugh. ”I’ve covered this sport for years, and I can’t remember ever seeing a world champion celebrate the end of a round quite like that.”

His broadcast partner chuckles. ”After the way he dominated those last three minutes, I’d say he’s earned the right.”

”The bigger story, however, is Ryoma. This may be the first time in his professional career that he’s looked genuinely lost.”

”Not defeated. Not overwhelmed. Just... searching for answers he can’t seem to find.”

”You can feel the concern spreading throughout the Tokyo Dome, and I’m sure millions watching across Japan are feeling exactly the same way.”

”Still, it’s important to keep this in perspective. Cabello has clearly been the better man so far, but Ryoma’s disciplined defense and fundamentally sound footwork have prevented that dominance from snowballing into serious damage.”

”There are still nine rounds left, and for a fighter of Takeda’s caliber, one adjustment can completely change the complexion of this fight.”

The moment Ryoma settles onto the stool, he closes his eyes, forcing every trace of frustration out of his mind.

Hiroshi and Sera, however, immediately get to work; wiping the sweat from Ryoma’s face before pressing an ice bag against the back of his neck, quickly checking both sides of his ribs before tending to the side of the head where Cabello’s hook had landed.

Their frantic movements begin to feel a little excessive, prompting Ryoma to open one eye and let out a quiet sigh.

”Hey... don’t fuss over me like that. He didn’t hurt me nearly as much as you think.”

Hiroshi and Sera pause at the same time. They exchange a brief glance before both instinctively looking toward Nakahara. Without changing his subdued expression, Nakahara simply hands Ryoma a bottle of water.

”He’s right,” Nakahara says. ”Cabello dominated that round, but he didn’t land many clean shots through Ryoma’s defense.”

Ryoma rinses his mouth, spits into the bucket, then nods. ”And there’s something else I noticed. He never anchored his feet when he hit me. Even when he stepped in for the body, he threw the punch while moving toward my rear.”

Nakahara nods in agreement. ”None of them carried the kind of force that could knock you down. But the accumulation still matters. If you keep absorbing them, they’ll eventually start taking something away from your performance at later rounds.”

”That’s exactly why,” Ryoma replies. ”I need a little time to clear my head... and think through my options.”

Nakahara gives a small nod. ”Sure. Take your time.”

Ryoma closes his eyes once more, slowing his breathing as he replays every exchange from the third round. He carefully reviews everything Cabello did, along with every mistake he himself had made.

Cabello’s seemingly random movement had repeatedly disrupting his stance and balance whenever he forced himself to chase the target. Even so, as Ryoma retraces the round in his mind, a pattern begins to emerge. Cabello had only managed to land clean shots at very specific moments:

- When his balance had already been compromised.

- While he was still adjusting his stance and angle.

- Or after he had overcommitted and left himself exposed.

During every other exchange, even without the Vision Grid System’s trajectory reading, Ryoma had still been able to read the attacks well enough to block, parry, or evade them.

Gradually, the doubt that had surfaced during the previous break quietly disappears. The trajectory feature had certainly made things easier, but he wasn’t nearly as helpless without it as he had first believed.

Satisfied with the evaluation, Ryoma opens his eyes. The irritation has completely faded, and his breathing has returned to a steady rhythm.

”Well?” Nakahara asks.

Ryoma remains silent for a moment before answering. ”I’m confident I won the first round. Cabello clearly took the next two.”

Nakahara gives a slight nod. ”Which still leaves nine rounds if you’re thinking in terms of the scorecards.”

Ryoma nods in return. ”It’s time to try the same strategy Aramaki used against Rikiya. For the first two and a half minutes, I’ll keep my output to a minimum and make him do the work. Then I’ll raise the pace during the final thirty seconds.”

His gaze shifts toward the red corner. ”I’m willing to concede the next two rounds. In return, I’ll make sure every one of those dance steps to start feeling heavy by round six.”

***

Meanwhile, Cabello sits in the red corner with his eyes closed, leaning comfortably against the corner pad just like during the previous break.

His corner hardly has anything to do. Other than handing him a bottle to rinse his mouth earlier, Rivera and the rest of the team simply let him rest.

For now, Cabello has already grown tired of Dragostea Din Tei, but the lingering beat still drifts through his mind, leaving him as relaxed as ever.

When the official finally orders both corners to clear the ring, Cabello opens his eyes, gives a single nod, and rises to his feet in one smooth motion.

”Come on, kid. The night’s still young. Don’t make this a boring one.”

He rolls his hips lazily from side to side while fixing his gaze on Ryoma.

Behind him, the corner team slips through the ropes, with Rivera being the last to leave, shaking his head in utter disbelief before glancing at the nearest assistant.

”The night’s still young?” Rivera mutters. ”Does he realize this fight started in broad daylight?”

The assistant simply shrugs before turning his attention back to the ring.

A beat later, the bell finally sounds, signaling the start of the fourth round.

Ding!

The local fans immediately erupt with renewed words of encouragement for Ryoma, their voices once again filling the Tokyo Dome.

”Hang in there, Ryoma!”

”We’re still with you!”

”Don’t give up!”

”Come on, Cruel King!”

”You can still beat him!”

Rather than being bothered by the overwhelming support for his opponent, Cabello seems to relish every second of it.

He strolls out of his corner with the same relaxed gangsta 2-step, nodding lightly to the rhythm.

”That’s it. Keep cheering for him. Otherwise... this fight might get a little too boring.”

He comes to a stop just short of center ring, finally dropping the gangsta stance and settling back into the unorthodox fighting stance he has used throughout the first three rounds.

The rhythm never leaves him. His toes keep rocking against the canvas in time with the gentle bopping of his head and gloves, while his hips breathe with an easy sway.

Every so often, his upper body bends and bows from side to side, never lingering in the same position long enough to become a comfortable target.

Ryoma, on the other hand, adopts a far more balanced, relaxed stance, his feet sitting slightly squared beneath him while both gloves remain high.

He advances with measured, economical steps before flicking out a light jab, retracting it to his guard almost as soon as it leaves his hand.

As Cabello bows out of the line of attack once again, Ryoma makes no attempt to chase him. He simply preserves his posture, refusing to compromise the fundamentals that had repeatedly unraveled in the previous round.

”That’s a different approach from Takeda. He’s no longer chasing every movement.”

”He’s choosing to stay structurally sound instead. It looks like he’s decided Cabello can have the movement, as long as he doesn’t force him out of position.”

After watching Ryoma flick out several half-hearted jabs, Cabello gradually eases out of his rhythm.

His feet come to a brief stop, and an amused grin slowly spreads across his face.

”Fine... I’ll just make you dance with me.”

The rhythm returns for a brief moment before he suddenly shifts gears. His pace quickens as he darts from angle to angle, firing a single punch after each change of position.

Ryoma responds with remarkable composure. He simply pivots and adjusts his stance, receiving each incoming punch with careful precision, almost like a trainer calmly catching punches on a pair of focus mitts.

He pivots and blocks.

Dug.

Another pivot follows, this time ending with a block and a parry.

Dug. Dp.

He pivots once more, parries the next punch, then takes a subtle pendulum step to stay aligned with Cabello’s angle.

But the movement lasts only an instant before he settles right back into his relaxed, balanced stance, refusing to sacrifice his structure no matter how often Cabello changes direction.

”Cabello’s making him work...”

”But somehow, Ryoma still makes every defensive movement look effortless.”

The crowd responds with a mixture of applause and renewed cheers, impressed by how cleanly Ryoma has neutralized the exchange.

Taking it as a challenge, Cabello begins adding more layers to his offense. Feints blend into real punches, real punches dissolve into feints, and every now and then he suddenly slides one foot much deeper than before, only to spring back out a split second later.

But Ryoma refuses to bite. He blocks the punches, subtly adjusts his guard to every feint, and calmly takes a step back whenever Cabello exaggerates his forward movement.

Even when it appears as though he’s falling for the bait, and Cabello slips toward Ryoma’s exposed left side, Ryoma’s stance never breaks, his balance never leaves him.

He simply shifts his guard to cover the ribs, anticipating it well.

Cabello changes targets at the last instant, whipping the hook upstairs instead.

But still, Ryoma’s guard rises with it, catching the punch cleanly.

Dug.

He then cocks his right glove.

That alone is enough to make Cabello give up the angle and drift back out of range.

”You want me to dance with you?” Ryoma says. ”Try harder, Champ.”