VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

For the past few rounds, Nakahara has given Ryoma a little more freedom. But now, he is beginning to regret that decision.

Because the Ryoma sitting in front of him is no longer the obedient fighter he knows. And this isn’t the reckless Ryoma he has spent the past several years dealing with, either.

For some reason, Nakahara feels as though he is dealing with someone much closer to his former student, Shimamura Suzuki.

Unwilling to let Ryoma walk down the same path as Shimamura, Nakahara steps closer and tries once again to reason with him, just as he has during the previous two rounds.

”Kid, listen,” Nakahara begins, deliberately drawing Ryoma’s attention toward him. ”You scored the first knockdown, and he got one back later. That evens things out. But you’ve still dominated the other seven full rounds, and there are only three rounds left. You don’t need to take any more risks. Just control the fight. If he goes down, great. If he doesn’t, don’t force it. Remember your condition.”

Ryoma glances toward him, wearing a casual, almost scoffing grin. ”My condition? Seriously, old man. I’m feeling great right now. In fact, I’ve never felt better. Don’t be a coward now and share that cowardice with me.”

Nakahara is slightly taken aback, genuinely offended by the words. No matter how reckless Ryoma has been over the years, he has never spoken to Nakahara in a way that so casually disrespects his dignity.

Even the other Ryoma, still trapped somewhere inside his own mind, feels deeply offended by those words.

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Without the slightest change in his expression, Ryoma turns his attention back toward Umemoto across the ring.

”This fight is only this complicated because of your half-assed approach,” he says. ”If he’d been crushed from the beginning, none of this would have happened. You gave him too much room, too much time to sharpen his performance and hone his instincts. If I step out and fight with your cowardly mindset, he might be the one who destroys me.”

With those words, he manages to cut both of them down with the same sentence. He condemns the Ryoma buried inside his own mind for lacking the courage to finish the fight, while simultaneously blaming Nakahara for teaching him that hesitation was the safer choice.

Nakahara’s expression slowly changes as the words sink in. The casual irritation fades first, replaced by a restrained anger that tightens his jaw and hardens his eyes. Yet he cannot bring himself to answer.

Beneath the offense, buried somewhere he would rather not acknowledge, is the uncomfortable suspicion that the Ryoma sitting before him may have a point.

Meanwhile, the Cruel King continues watching Umemoto with a mixture of sadistic delight and quiet amusement. His grin slowly widens again as his mind begins entertaining every cruel thing he could possibly do to him.

That is when the other Ryoma realizes something far uglier. The Cruel King may have said something rational to Nakahara, but Ryoma can see everything he deliberately leaves unsaid.

Trapped inside that strange realm of his own mind, Ryoma can read every vicious thought running through the Cruel King’s head as clearly as if those thoughts were being spoken aloud.

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This time, the Cruel King offers no response, neither aloud nor within the confines of Ryoma’s mind. He simply begins to chuckle, quietly at first, before the sound gradually grows clearer, as though he is savoring every word Ryoma says to him.

”Kuku... Kukukuku.”

***

Meanwhile, Umemoto remains locked inside that same razor-sharp state of concentration, his instincts still responding with the frightening precision that has carried him through the last several rounds.

The adrenaline surging through his bloodstream continues to dull the pain spreading throughout his body, allowing him to ignore the bruising across his torso and the punishment accumulating around his head.

The swelling around his face has become impossible to hide. His lower lip is split and swollen, and his nose has begun to puff up noticeably from the repeated impact.

”Stay with me, Umemoto,” Ishimaru says, pressing a folded piece of gauze against the cut at his temple. ”You’re still seeing everything. Your instincts are still there. Don’t let the pain convince you that your body has already given up.”

He carefully presses the swollen eyelid again, checking the damage before shifting the gauze slightly higher against the cut.

”You’ve made it this far because you know exactly what you’re doing in there. Keep trusting that instinct. One exchange at a time, Kimitada. That’s all you need.”

Umemoto doesn’t say a word, his gaze remaining locked on the Cruel King across the ring as his fighting instincts grow sharper with every passing second.

But his body is beginning to reveal what his mind refuses to acknowledge. His breathing has become noticeably shallower, with each inhale arriving a fraction later than the one before.

Sweat begins gathering along his temples and jaw again, despite Ishimaru having just wiped the moisture away moments earlier. His shoulders rise and fall heavily with every breath.

But Ishimaru does not fully register those signs. His attention is still consumed by the fight itself, his excitement running too high after watching Umemoto repeatedly hammer Ryoma through several brutal exchanges over the past few rounds.

There is a deep sense of satisfaction behind that excitement, fueled by how personal his hatred for Ryoma has become. It’s as though someone is finally giving him the punishment he has wanted to see Ryoma receive for a long time.

That excitement keeps Ishimaru from noticing just how much Umemoto’s body is already beginning to pay for those exchanges.

”This is the best fight of your career, Umemoto,” Ishimaru says, giving his shoulder a firm pat. ”By far. I’ve never seen you fight like this before. You’ve been pushing him back, breaking through his defenses, and making that bastard pay for every mistake he makes.”

He gives Umemoto another encouraging pat on his chest, his voice growing more excited with every word.

”Keep doing exactly what you’ve been doing. You’ve got him where you want him now. He’s the one struggling, not you. Just keep pressing him like this, and sooner or later, he’ll break.”

Umemoto accepts Ishimaru’s encouragement without hesitation. As a man who values testing his own limits above everything he could achieve as a professional boxer, he has no reason to turn away from those words.