VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Despite the disaster that took place at the post-fight press conference, Ronin Fight Management still has every reason to celebrate.

After all, Ryoma won his fight, Okabe pulled off a major upset by defeating the number-one-ranked fighter in the JBC, and four of their young Class-C fighters also came away with victories.

That makes five wins in a single event, which is more than enough reason for a group of boxers, trainers, staff, and assorted relatives to forget, at least for a few hours, that professional boxing is supposed to be a miserable occupation.

They just aren’t going to celebrate loudly enough for the rest of the world to notice. They just gather at Shimizu Shoba at the late afternoon, with nothing particularly glamorous about it.

Bowls of soba keep arriving, glasses are refilled whenever they become suspiciously empty, and plates of side dishes disappear at a rate that suggests several of the young fighters have spent the entire day preparing for the party by not eating.

”To Okabe!”

”Finally!”

”About fucking time!”

”Hey, I can hear you!”

”Someone get him another drink.”

”Hey, Yoshimi!” Okabe suddenly snaps. ”Don’t you dare drink that sake. You’re five years too young for it!”

”I’m eighteen. I’m old enough for this. Besides, this is my professional debut.”

Another young fighter casually pours sake into his own cup while listening to the exchange.

”That’s rich coming from you, Okabe-san. You’re drunk already.”

Okabe immediately snatches the cup from his hand and downs it himself.

”Listen, Keiji. If you’re already getting carried away after winning your debut, you guys are the type who’ll get satisfied too easily. Didn’t you hear what Ryoma said earlier? That guy hasn’t had a drink once since his debut.”

Yoshimi and Keiji both pull sour faces, while the other two young fighters who also won their bouts today exchange a wary glance.

”So does that mean we’re not allowed to date either?”

”Man, seriously? There’s no way I’m breaking up with my girlfriend, right? She’s the reason I get out of bed.”

Kenta suddenly appears behind them and drapes an arm around both their shoulders.

”Dating is fine. But discipline and dedication come first. Above talent.”

Then he takes a seat near them. ”This gym has had plenty of talented fighters before Ryoma, and not a single one of them managed to make it even to the top contender at national level.”

”That’s right,” Okabe adds, looking considerably more drunk now.

He raises his cup toward Ryoma, who is sitting at the bar a short distance away.

”Everything changed because of our Cruel King. Well, I don’t exactly like him. He’s annoying, and honestly, I hate him for being so damn demanding. But those demands are also what pushed me forward.”

Then he finally turns toward Ryoma and raise his cup higher.

”To our world champion! Kampai!”

Around the tables, everyone immediately reaches for a cup of sake, including Shimizu himself.

”Kampai!”

”Hey, Keiji!” Okabe snaps again. ”What did I tell you?”

”Yeack...” Keiji grimaces horribly, his entire face twisting as he swallows. ”Damn, this tastes so bad.”

Meanwhile, Ryoma doesn’t join them for the toast. He simply sits there, staring down at the bowl in front of him, which contains nothing but a shallow pool of broth and a few stray bits of garnish.

Earlier, he had given Nakahara a simple explanation for what happened at the press conference. He claimed he had only acted that way because he wanted the journalists to stop hounding him. He’s already so tired, only wanted some peace and quiet.

Nakahara hadn’t exactly bought it, but at least the explanation had been enough to keep him and the others from seriously considering that something might be wrong with Ryoma’s state of mind.

For now, that is enough. Ryoma remains motionless, his expression completely flat as the noise of the celebration continues around him. To anyone watching, he looks almost bored.

Inside, however, there is a strange exhilaration running through him, a deep and almost intoxicating sense of relief. It feels like the first time he has finally stopped fighting an urge he has spent years forcing back down.

There was no second-guessing, no instinctive attempt to put himself back under control. He simply let go. And, God, it felt so good that he still can’t stop recalling that heat moment with those journalists.

Yet none of it reaches his face. Ryoma simply keeps staring at the empty soba bowl without saying anything.

”What’s wrong, champ?” Shimizu comes over to him. ”You’re so quiet today. Did your opponent disappoint you?”

”Not just a little,” Aramaki says with a small chuckle. ”He disappointed him quite a lot. Ryoma finished him in the second round.”

Then, out of nowhere, Ryoma asks something that immediately draws everyone’s attention.

”Shimizu-san, can I have some sake too?”

Aramaki turns toward him with an expression of genuine disbelief.

”Are you serious?”

”Why wouldn’t I be?”

”You’ve never had alcohol.”

”Didn’t you hear me earlier? I used to be an alcohol addict.”

”Oh, come on,” Aramaki says, laughing. ”I know you were just saying whatever came to mind to shut those journalists up. I know you’re not actually like that.”

Ryoma gives him a cold smile. ”You’re underestimating me? Shimizu-san. The sake.”

”Alright, alright.” Shimizu reaches for a bottle and pours sake into a small cup before sliding it toward Ryoma. ”I know this is your first time, so take it easy.”

Ryoma gives a small scoff as he picks up the cup.

Heh… they just have no idea.

I was a heavy drinker in my previous life.

He raises the cup to his lips and downs it in one go. Soon, the cup returns to the counter with a soft click. Ryoma’s face remains still for a moment, but his expression gradually twists into a peculiar mixture of surprise and restrained disgust.

”What the hell is this...? Are you sure this is sake?”

Shimizu lets out a small laugh. ”Why? You don’t like it? Of course, it’s your first time trying it. But congratulations. You’ve officially entered the adult world.”

Ryoma falls quiet, feeling as though this is his first time drinking sake.

He knows he used to drink sake regularly in his previous life. He remembers the bars, the bottles, the money he wasted, the countless hours he spent drinking until the night disappeared.

He can recall the image, but when he reaches for the actual taste in his memory, there is nothing there. Absolutely nothing.

”Want another?” Shimizu asks.

Ryoma swallows hard.

”Y-yes.”

Shimizu grins and pours him another cup.

When Ryoma picks it up, for some reason, the tiny cup suddenly feels like a challenge far more intimidating than fighting Cabello ever did. He stares at the sake for a few more moment, and then forces it down.

This time, the effect hits almost immediately. Sharp warmth spreads through his throat and down into his chest, followed by a strange heaviness in his limbs.

Slowly, his face begins to flush, his ears feel hot, and the room seems to become slightly brighter and farther away at the same time.

He blinks several times, his head feels light, and his stomach gives an unpleasant little twist.

”That’s it!” Okabe says, bursting into applause. ”That’s how you drink!”

Aramaki laughs too, and pats Ryoma firmly on the shoulder.

”Good job, champ! Not bad for your first time!”

Ryoma opens his mouth to answer, but the room suddenly tilts sideways.

”Urb...”

His eyes widen.

He grabs the edge of the counter, misses it slightly, and has to catch himself with his other hand.

”Ryoma?”

”I’m fine.”

But no, he is very clearly not fine.

He pushes himself upright, sways slightly, and heads for the entrance.

”Hey, champ, where are you going?”

Not saying anything, Ryoma makes it outside and bends over, vomiting onto the pavement.

Everyone is laughing and celebrating. But Hayakawa, still calmly observing everything, finally leaves his chair and comes to Ryoma.

”Yeah. He really wasn’t kidding about the addiction thing.”

After waiting for Ryoma to finish, Hayakawa helps him back to his feet and studies his condition for a moment before turning toward Aramaki.

”I’m taking him home. You coming?”

”Ah, sure. See you again, Shimizu-san.”

”Yeah. Take care of him for me.”

Hayakawa takes the wheel while Aramaki helps Ryoma into the back seat and climbs in beside him.

”Pushing yourself this far just to cover up a stupid little lie…?” Aramaki shakes his head with an amused expression. ”You’re acting like a damn kid.”

Ryoma barely reacts. He’s far too drunk now to keep control of himself, and whatever restraint he normally has over his secrets is slipping away with it.

”I wasn’t lying,” he says weakly. ”I’ve already lived until 2026... had a terrible life...”

Aramaki blinks and glances at him, taking it for the rambling of a drunk man.

”Oh, you did?”

”Yeah...” Ryoma’s eyes remain half-closed. ”I had three consecutive losses in my debut... got hit by a truck... found my mom dead at the door...”

Hayakawa, who has just shifted the car into gear, suddenly pauses and looks back through the rearview mirror. Aramaki looks up at him as well, both men wearing the same confused expression.

”I wasted my life at the bar... Kaede left me... and when I finally hit a jackpot...”

Ryoma’s voice trails for a moment before he continues, almost in a whisper.

”Two men in black… shot me in the chest...”