VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Nakahara’s hand trembles as he holds out the gumshield, the small piece of rubber suddenly heavy. The deep lines on his face seem carved deeper by shame. His posture sags, like a man already bracing for the anger he knows he deserves.

“Sorry, kid.” His voice cracks, low and uneven. “My hand… just moved on its own.”

Ryoma stares at the gumshield. His jaw tightens, annoyance flickering.

But still…

“…I get it.” He exhales. “You did what a Second’s supposed to do. This is just a spar. No reason to gamble my whole career here.”

Something shifts in Nakahara’s face, not just relief at being forgiven, but surprise at Ryoma’s words.

Most young fighters would rage at having a fight taken from them. But this boy, in pain and pride, still speaks with clarity, wisdom at such a young age.

Ryoma pushes up to walk, but his legs betray him. His first step stumbles, and Nakahara lunges forward to catch, slips under his arm.

“So I failed,” Ryoma mutters.

“No,” Nakahara shakes his head quickly. “I threw it too soon. I thought that last hit to your jaw would break you.”

“But still… I couldn’t walk on my own,” Ryoma gives a tired smile. “Doesn’t that mean I didn’t meet the condition you gave me?”

Nakahara has no answer. His ambition burns as fiercely as Ryoma’s, to raise a champion at last, after decades of empty corners. But if it has to risk the kid’s entire career by setting up too much fights within a year, then he has to reconsider everything again.

***

Across the ring, Renji leans heavy against Itsuki, the gym mate who’d stepped in as referee. Kirizume doesn’t come to him, already distracted by the two reporters crowding for quotes.

To anyone watching, Renji looks fine. But truth to be told, he isn’t.

“Stay here with me,” Renji whispers. “Just… pretend we’re chatting.”

Itsuki blinks, caught between worry and confusion.

“You hurt somewhere?”

“Not exactly. But…” Renji lowers his gaze. “I can’t move my legs. They’re numb.”

Itsuki feels the truth in the pressure sinking into him. Renji’s weight is nearly slumping against his shoulders.

“I don’t even know what hit me,” Renji mutters. “Not much pain. Just a sting in my jaw.”

His eyes track Ryoma’s back, the heavy drag in the rookie’s stride. He punished the kid badly, yet his own body isn’t much better.

And he still doesn’t understand how the fight truly ended.

“His Second threw the towel…” he murmurs. “Why? Did I hit him that hard?”

“Of course,” Itsuki says with an uneasy grin. “You blew his gumshield clean out with that shot. You really punished him, hit his jaw like that. I’m surprised he even stayed standing.”

Renji’s expression shifts as he replays the image in his mind. Slowly, he shakes his head.

“No. I didn’t land flush.”

Itsuki flinches. “I saw it myself. You cracked him good!”

“I saw him twisting his head at the last second,” Renji says quietly. “Maybe to soften the blow.”

Itsuki stares at him. “You’re kidding… right? To pull that out, the kid must possess a wild beast’s instincts.”

But Renji’s eyes burn, not with anger, but something else.

“Instinct…? No, he read the punch coming. I saw it in his eyes… and it made me excited. That’s why I went after him again, and forced the exchange.”

Moments later, Renji knocks his shoes against the canvas, testing his footing. He feels no obvious damage, no sharp pain, but the numbness lingers, like a fleeting paralysis he can’t quite shake.

At last, he starts walking, chest puffed out the way a Champion should. Itsuki shadows him at his side, disguising his support as casual conversation. Every step is an act, a performance meant to hide the truth.

“I remember the exchange,” Renji murmurs. “I know I missed my shot. But after that… it’s blank.”

“You took a left hook to the jaw,” Itsuki replies. “Came from a lower angle, snapped your head sideways.”

Renji exhales slowly. “That explains it. Not the hardest shot I’ve ever taken, but from that angle… yeah, it could’ve rattled my brain. Left me numb like this.”

His voice dips lower. “If it were an official match, and he knocked me down in that situation… I doubt I’d be able to get up before the count hit ten.”

Itsuki blinks, the words freezing him in place. A reigning Champion, shaken enough to admit he might not have beaten the count, against a rookie with only one fight on record.

The thought rattles him more than he’d like to show, leaving him staring blankly for a beat too long.

Before he can collect himself, Kirizume’s voice cuts in from ringside.

“Hey, Renji! You good over there?”

Renji turns his head, spotting Kirizume with the two journalists.

“Yeah!” he replies, showing a thumb in approval.

He is fine now, already able to walk on his own. But it’s not something he can brag about to his trainer.

“They’re waiting on you here,” Kirizume calls. “Think you can give them a few words?”

Renji’s irritation shows plain. “Tch. Can’t you give me a minute? I’m the Champion. Interview the rookie first. The main event always speaks last, don’t you know that?”

The journalists glance around for Ryoma, but he’s already near the exit with his group. Only Coach Nakahara breaks off, stepping toward Kirizume.

“Sorry, Kirizume,” Nakahara says, bowing politely. “My boy can’t stay any longer. Your Champion really punished him down there. But regardless of the outcome, I’m grateful for the chance, and for the lesson the champion gave to him.”

He straightens, voice firm.

“I’ll be waiting for the next spar.”

Then, as he turns on his heels, he adds with a chuckle.

“Or maybe, a fight in the ring.”

Kirizume’s face twists at those words, disbelief and disdain in equal measure. A no-name trainer daring to speak of an actual fight? The audacity grates on him.

But near the corner, Renji falls quiet, his thoughts drift. Judging from Ryoma’s frame, he knows Ryoma’s natural weight isn’t far from his own. Sooner or later, their paths will cross again. And when that day comes, he believes it won’t be just a spar.

***

Outside, Hiroshi eases Ryoma into the back seat of Reika’s car, steadying him by the arm until he settles in. Reika starts the engine, the low hum replacing the echoes of gloves and shouts, but the silence doesn’t last long.

Aki climbs in last, still buzzing with energy, and before her seatbelt even clicks, she bursts out, leaning toward Reika.

“Did you see that last exchange? I swear my heart stopped…”

Hiroshi exhales, his voice firm but calm. “Sorry, but… can you give my boxer some peaceful rest? Or should we get out of this car?”

“Ah, sorry…” Aki replies, giving an awkward guilty smile.

Ryoma doesn’t say a word. He just leans into the cushion, draping a towel over his face, his breath steady but heavy.

Finally, Reika starts driving, keeps her eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel. But in the mirror, she steals a glance, catching fragments of Ryoma’s face beneath the towel.

It strikes her as ironic. She’s never been fond of boxing, yet the spar she just witnessed has lodged itself deep in her chest. That moment when Ryoma refused to fold, turning madness into defiance, stirred something in her.

She tells herself it’s the thrill of the fight, the raw spectacle. But the truth presses closer. It wasn’t boxing that moved her, but him.

And as she sneaks another glance at him through the mirror, she realizes that the boy has already left a mark on her.