VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Seeing Malik disappear into his own confusion again, Darren gives his shoulder another firm shake.

”Oi, mate. Come on. This isn’t you. Where’s the Malik I know? The one who usually won’t shut the bloody hell up?”

Malik looks up and studies Darren’s face, as if the answer might be hiding somewhere inside his nostrils or between the wrinkles on his forehead.

”Honestly, Coach…” Malik says, shaking his head. ”I’ve got no fucking clue how I’m supposed to fight this bloke. You saw that first round. I couldn’t even touch him. He’s too good.”

”Ah, right… that’s your real problem.” Darren leans in, his voice sharpening. ”You’re so fixated on his style that you’ve forgotten your own. You even forgot the bloody plan.”

Malik blinks. ”The plan?”

”Yes, the plan. I told you to go after his body. Chest, shoulder, wherever you can get to him. But for three bloody minutes, you’ve been chasing his head like a man possessed.”

Darren shakes his head. ”I told you to be aggressive, sure. But you did it too bloody straightforward. Too easy to read. You forgot your own boxing and started fighting like an amateur.”

He crouches in front of Malik, bringing his face closer. ”I don’t give a fuck about his little gimmick. I don’t care about that foresight bullshit. You’re making yourself too easy to read. That’s the problem.”

Suddenly, an official signals for the corners to clear the ring. Darren rises, and Malik follows him to his feet as Barry pulls the stool away from behind him.

Darren steps through the ropes, then turns back toward Malik. ”Now go back in there, and fight the way you normally fight. Try to enjoy yourself a bit, Malik. Stop thinking too much.”

***

As the second round begins, Malik leaves his corner with a deliberate effort to change his mindset. He puts on an easy smile, loosens his shoulders, and walks forward with a lighter mood, treating the fight as though it were just another day at the gym when he could fool around between rounds and have a laugh.

When he sees Ryoma approaching from the opposite corner with the same gaze seemingly fixed on him as though it is always trying to read his mind, Malik throws out a light tease.

”Come on, champ. Don’t look so serious. It’s only boxing.”

”Tell that to yourself,” Ryoma replies openly. ”You look like you’re trying a little too hard to relax.”

Malik’s face twitches slightly, but he immediately masks it with an amused expression.

”Bloody hell… the little bastard really knows how to talk back.”

Malik stops trying to force himself into a plan and simply follows his feelings with the new artificial light mood.

His sharp pendulum steps start again; in, out, in, a shoulder feint, quick level change, and out again.

Then another entry from a different angle, followed by another hesitation. He throws nothing, just keeps moving, letting his body decide what comes next.

And Ryoma reacts to every little change, adjusting his feet and guard for each entry.

Malik notices the reaction, something different in Ryoma he hasn’t seen before. So he does it again; he gives another feint, and Ryoma shows another subtle reaction.

”Well, I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing.”

A faint grin crosses Malik’s face. He makes another sudden entry, sells a punch only to cancel it half way, and steps out again.

”But let’s see what you can read when I don’t know a damn thing either.”

After all that hesitation, Malik finally lets three punches go: a half-hearted probing jab, followed immediately by a sharp one-two.

Ryoma reacts calmly, adjusting the distance, slipping the jab, then angling away from the combination without allowing a single punch to touch him.

But Malik doesn’t force the combination this time. He adjusts his angle, follows Ryoma, then returns to his sharp pendulum steps, darting in and out while constantly flashing feints with his gloves and shoulders.

”A very different Adebayo this round.”

”Much more cautious, isn’t he? He learned plenty in those first three minutes. He can’t afford to be reckless again.”

Sometimes he commits to the entry; sometimes he hesitates and simply watches Ryoma react. And it doesn’t take long for Ryoma to recognize the significant difference.

In the first round, Malik’s hesitation came in moments of silence, when he would simply stop and look lost, unsure how to proceed. Now, every hesitation looks like a trap layered over another trap. Malik himself has no concrete idea what he is going to do. But to Ryoma, it looks like a layered game plan.

Malik comes forward again, with the same hesitations leaving small gaps in his attacks, openings that could give Ryoma a chance to counter.

Ryoma reads them as traps. So for a while, he keeps watching, refusing to bite.

”Adebayo’s still dictating the pace here. He’s the one asking all the questions.”

”And Takeda still hasn’t really answered them. You do wonder when the champion is going to start letting his hands go.”

Until finally, Ryoma decides to take one of those openings with a low-risk counter.

When Malik makes a hesitated right cross, Ryoma punishes the hesitation with a flicking jab.

Dsh!

”Now we’re talking, folks!”

”The champion’s finally fighting back!”

Malik steps in immediately, firing two heavy hooks in return.

Ryoma is already stepping back, angling out to his right before flicking another jab.

Dsh!

”Another one!”

Malik adjusts his angle, takes a few quick pendulum steps, then twitches his shoulder. He makes another hesitation entry. But Ryoma simply sends a jab, refusing to buy the gimmick.

Malik blocks it well this time, and immediately fires a lead hook to the body.

Ryoma reads it well, stepping back once, then stepping in again with another flicking jab.

Dsh!

”Yet another counter from Ryoma!”

That’s the third counter so far, but none of them carries enough weight to make Malik respect it.

The hunt continues with Malik blending his aggression with feints and hesitation, constantly changing the rhythm of his entries.

And Ryoma keeps answering with one jab at a time.

He slips, and flicks a jab.

Dsh!

He angles out, and another jab.

Dsh!

Step back, and another left.

Dsh!

Yet Malik stubbornly fires back after every counter, refusing to let Ryoma have the final word. And every time, Ryoma gets away without paying for it.

”Adebayo keeps coming, but Takeda is finding him every single time he leaves that little gap.”

”Look at the accuracy on these counters! He’s picking his spots perfectly. Every time Malik gives him something, Takeda puts that jab right on the bullseye.”

Eventually, the exchanges grow sharper and more intense, each one tighter than the last, with the shrinking margin putting everyone on the edge of their seats.

In the middle of a longer, messier combination from Malik, Ryoma slips in another jab. But this time, Malik doesn’t stop his momentum and a lead hook finally catches Ryoma on the right side.

Dsh!

BUGH!

Finally got you.

The arena erupts. For the first time since the opening bell, the noise from Malik’s side of the crowd surges back to life.

”Come on, Malik!”

”Smash the cocky little bastard!”

”Finish him, Malik!”

Ryoma immediately steps in, firing back with two short hooks.

Malik blocks both.

Dug. Dug.

And he answers immediately with a sharp left hook toward the head. Ryoma quickly ducks beneath it, and Malik’s momentum carries him around to the outside.

As Ryoma digs a punch into Malik’s exposed right ribs, Malik also fires one of his own almost at the same time.

THUD!

BUGH!

”Ooooh! Finally!”

”Adebayo gets something on the champion! He forces the exchange and lands clean!”

Before Ryoma can slip away, Malik steps in and wraps him up in a clinch.

From that close, he can hear Ryoma’s heavy breathing against his shoulder, and the sound alone seems to satisfy him.

”What’s wrong, kid?” Malik says. ”You didn’t see that coming, did you?”

The referee comes over and taps Malik on the arm, ordering him to break the clinch.

Malik releases Ryoma without resistance, then takes two casual steps back with his gloves lowered, looking completely comfortable with the situation.

”So much for seeing what comes next, eh?” A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. ”Tell me, kid… did your crystal ball miss that one?”

The two commentators catch the taunt. They exchange an amused laugh as the atmosphere around the ring suddenly feels different.

”For once, Malik’s done something Ryoma didn’t quite expect!”

”And now, perhaps, he really can rewrite the history!”