VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

By the time Ryoma reaches the neutral corner, Umemoto is already back on his feet. Something in Ryoma’s expression tightens as his eyes assess the damage across Umemoto’s face, breathing, shoulders, and stance.

”He’s already back up!”

”Unbelievable! After taking that combination, Umemoto is back on his feet almost immediately!”

”I don’t know how he recovered that quickly!”

Yet something else catches Ryoma’s attention. The man staring back at him no longer looks like the loud, provocative Umemoto he knows.

Umemoto simply stands there, breathing heavily, his battered face calm as he watches Ryoma with a strange intensity in his eyes. For the first time tonight, Umemoto had felt Ryoma’s speed, precision, and power arrive together.

It was no longer just a matter of tricks and technique. It was the kind of force Umemoto had spent years wanting to test himself against, the very reason he became a boxer in the first place.

The referee continues the count, reaching eight before stepping forward to inspect Umemoto closely.

”Are you okay? You good to go?”

”Yeah,” Umemoto says, his face still cold. ”I’m fine.”

The referee watches him for another second, then immediately steps back and resumes the fight.

”Box!”

The arena erupts again, with Umemoto’s supporters roaring from every corner of the Osaka crowd as he rises to continue fighting.

”UMEMOTO IS BACK ON HIS FEET, AND WE’RE GOING RIGHT BACK TO THE ACTION!”

”AFTER EVERYTHING WE JUST SAW, THIS FIGHT IS STILL GOING!”

”RYOMA TAKEDA HAS HIM HURT, BUT UMEMOTO KIMITADA REFUSES TO STAY DOWN!”

Ryoma immediately presses forward, determined to take advantage of the down before Umemoto can recover.

Umemoto knows better than to fight back right now. He manages only two steps away from the ropes before bringing his high guard back up.

Ryoma attacks from mid-range, his punches coming fast and hard as he moves around Umemoto with a sharp urgency.

”RYOMA IS NOT GIVING HIM ANY TIME TO RECOVER!”

”HE’S GOING STRAIGHT AFTER THAT HIGH GUARD! UMEMOTO IS COMPLETELY SHELLED UP AGAIN!”

”RYOMA IS THROWING WITH SERIOUS INTENT HERE!”

”HE WANTS THIS FIGHT OVER!”

Yet despite the urgency in his movement, Ryoma’s punches remain clean, accurate, and measured.

Even without slowing down, he still can work around Umemoto’s guard, pulling the gloves apart and striking through whatever openings appear.

Umemoto resets his guard quickly each time, but even the smallest gaps are enough for Ryoma to exploit.

Dug. Dsh! Thud!

Dug. BUGH!

”ANOTHER COMBINATION GETS THROUGH!”

”UMEMOTO IS BLOCKING, BUT RYOMA IS STILL FINDING THOSE TINY OPENINGS!”

Even so, there is something different about Umemoto now.

He still cannot keep Ryoma’s punches from reaching him. But he seems to anticipate each impact before it arrives, tightening his body and bracing himself against every shot.

Even Ryoma’s sharp eyes catch it amid the barrage: whenever a punch is about to land on the head or the ribs, the muscles in Umemoto’s neck and around his ribs always tense in anticipation.

From that alone, Ryoma can tell that although Umemoto still cannot block the punches, he has begun reading them.

”ANOTHER CLEAN SHOT FROM RYOMA!”

”HE’S LANDING WITH RIDICULOUS ACCURACY!”

”BUT UMEMOTO IS STILL STANDING! HOW IS HE STILL TAKING THESE PUNCHES?!”

Then, just as another hook crashes into his ribs…

THUD!

Umemoto is actually able to catch Ryoma’s arm at the instant of impact. Ignoring the pain, he steps in and ends Ryoma’s assault in a tight clinch.

Umemoto manages to buy himself enough time to survive the assault until the bell finally rings.

Ding!

”What a round!”

”Ryoma had him in serious trouble, but Umemoto somehow survived all the way to the bell!”

***

The blue corner immediately comes alive as Umemoto drops onto his stool, with his team crowding around him and working quickly over the damage from the previous round.

One man wipes the sweat and blood from his face while another presses a cold towel against the swelling near his temple, while checking the damage around his ribs between breaths.

Umemoto’s chest rises and falls heavily, his body marked by dozens of clean punches, but he remains upright and alert.

Ishimaru stands directly in front of him, wearing an encouraging smile that does little to hide the panic creeping across his face.

”Good work surviving that knockdown and making it safely back to the bell. You did a good job using that high guard to draw him into fighting at closer range. This isn’t over yet. You’re already starting to deal with that simple jab of his.”

He leans closer, raising his voice over the noise of the arena.

”Next round, I want you to keep that high guard. Keep inviting him into close range. Once he gets impatient, that’s when you can tear him apart. Trust your strength. You’re stronger, faster, and more vicious. There isn’t a boxer in this country stronger than you.”

Umemoto hears every word, but his eyes remain fixed across the ring on Ryoma. For once, Ishimaru’s instructions barely register.

Something in Umemoto has already awakened, and the longer he sits there, the hotter it becomes. And when he reaches this state, he trusts his body far more than his thoughts, and certainly more than Ishimaru’s strategy.

Ishimaru wants him to keep the high guard. Umemoto has something else in mind. He is going to step back into that ring and let his body fight on its own.

Meanwhile, the red corner is considerably calmer. The team simply wipes the sweat from Ryoma’s face and gives him some water to rinse his mouth.

Nakahara, however, is paying closer attention to Ryoma’s mental state, especially after the concerns Ryoma shared with him before this.

”How are you feeling?” Nakahara asks. ”Is your head still noisy? Still crowded?”

Ryoma nods. ”Sorry, Coach. My brain suddenly started throwing every possible option at me for breaking through Umemoto’s defense, and I ignored your instructions.”

Nakahara falls silent and briefly glances toward Sera. Their eyes meet, and for a second, neither of them needs to say what they are thinking.

Ryoma looks unusually obedient, showing none of the ambition, impatience, recklessness, or brutality that normally makes him so difficult to contain once the fight starts.

For a moment, neither man knows whether the change is something they should be concerned about.

But as coaches responsible for an athlete’s career beyond a single night, they cannot deny what they are seeing.

For Ryoma’s long-term career, this may be the best thing that could have happened.

”It’s alright,” Nakahara says. ”Honestly, I’m impressed by what you just did. Your plan worked without putting you in unnecessary danger, and I’m sure Umemoto is badly hurt by now.”

Ryoma remains silent for a moment, his sharp eyes studying Umemoto from across the ring. Even without the Vision Grid, his mind continues assessing the challenger with the same frightening precision.

And that only strengthens the theory Dr. Miyahara gave him. Perhaps these abilities have always been part of him, not something provided by the system or whatever the Vision Grid actually is, but something that was there from the very beginning, deeply embedded in the way his mind and body naturally function.

Perhaps the Vision Grid was never the source of those abilities in the first place, but simply a way for his mind to manage the overwhelming amount of information his natural perception could process.

What Ryoma needs now is not another system to think for him, but the ability to control over how much he allows himself to think about, and when he needs to stop.

After examining Umemoto for several seconds, Ryoma finally shakes his head and looks toward Nakahara.

”He’s nowhere near finished,” he says. ”I have to admit, he might be the strongest fighter I’ve ever faced. Once that bell rings, I’m sure he’ll still be capable of returning to the level he was fighting at before.”

He turns his eyes back toward Umemoto. ”And I know the next round is going to be a little harder. He seems like the kind of fighter who only gets better as the fight goes on.”