VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Kaede doesn’t like it one bit, but she only dips her head in a small bow before turning on her heel. She’s older than Reika, yet not the kind of girl to pick a fight out of sheer prejudice.

And you know what? There’s a strange little phenomenon in human attraction: a man’s appeal can sharpen the moment a woman discovers he’s already wanted by someone else. Psychologists call it mate-choice copying.

And right now, Reika simply feels it. Kaede’s presence, her familiarity with Ryoma, the way her hand brushed his bruise, should have made Reika step back. Instead, it gives her a reason to lean forward, or perhaps, to be bolder.

She moves toward the door, half with an excuse of apology, half with the thrill of staking her own claim. But before her hand can reach the handle, the door swings open.

“Think it’s time I leave.” Aki steps out, bowing slightly toward Ryoma inside. “Thank you for letting me see deeper into a boxer’s life.”

Then she closes the door, and indirectly closes it on Reika’s intent at the same time. She turns, oblivious, and calls softly:

“Come, Reika. Where should we go next?”

Reika watches her friend’s back as she walks toward the car. But her eyes then slip past the doorframe, just long enough to see Ryoma collapse into the sofa, worn out, uninterested, not even glancing her way.

And somehow, it’s that very lack of interest that pulls her in deeper. For now, she takes a few steps back, only to make sure she can step deeper next time.

As Reika turns away, only then does Ryoma glances at her direction. His Vision Grid has been whispering the truth at him since the gym, stacking data point after data point until it formed a quiet, undeniable verdict.

He’s tried to dismiss it, pretend the floating panel at the corner of his sight wasn’t there, but the system was merciless in its precision.

***

[Subject: Reika Takamori]

Observation Log — Active Since 11:42 AM

– Proximity Persistence: maintained within 2.5m radius, despite exits available.

– Gaze Tracking: >70% orientation toward subject (Ryoma).

– Vocal Tone Analysis: fluctuations detected → 13% lower when addressing target.

– Social Dynamics: attempted alignment with peer (Aki) conversation threads.

– Humor Patterns: low success rate, yet repeated attempts (x3).

– Body Language: step-in hesitation neutralized by external interruption (Kaede arrival).

Cumulative Assessment:

Interest Level — Serious (72%)

Trajectory — Escalation Expected

***

And yet, Ryoma’s brows tighten, not in satisfaction, but in the weary disinterest of a man who feels far older than the nineteen-year-old they all think he is.

“…kids these days,” he mutters under his breath.

Just then, the back door creaks open, and Fumiko steps in with the faint smell of cigarettes clinging to her. And she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Kids these days? Does that also include you? Three girls in one afternoon, Ryoma… That’s a new record.”

Ryoma exhales, sinking deeper into the sofa. “That’s not what this is…”

“Mm-hm,” Fumiko hums, grinning as she reaches for a broom, as if she’s already seen through him. After reaching for the dustpan, she pauses mid-motion.

“You’ve changed, you know that?” she says quietly. “It’s natural, for a boy your age. Maybe you haven’t even noticed it yourself. But…”

Her words trail off as she sweeps the cut hair into the pan and empties it into the bin. When she finally looks back, her gaze softens, gentle but searching.

“You’ve changed so much that sometimes I wonder… did my son take too many punches to the head? Did he wake up one day as a different person entirely?”

“Mom, what are you talking about?” Ryoma says flatly, though the weight in his tone betrays him. “I’m still your son. Your only son. Not some shape-shifting yokai.”

Fumiko’s lips lift in a small smile. “I’m your mother. I know you better than anyone. And usually, when I worry, you’d brush it off with some stupid joke. Maybe tease me, or do something silly just to make me laugh. That boy, the bright and mischievous son I knew, it feels like I’ve lost him.”

She doesn’t let the heaviness linger. Instead, she pulls another cigarette from the pack, lights it, and exhales a thin stream toward the ceiling.

“I don’t know what happened to you in your debut fight. You came home crying that night. You hugged me… tight. Something you never even did when we buried your father.”

Ryoma stays silent. He can’t deny her. He remembers too well what kind of boy he used to be. And yet he can’t tell her the truth, that in another life, she was already gone, by her own hand, soon after he left her behind.

Before that thought can choke him, he moves, snatching the cigarette from her lips, pinches the burning tip out barehanded, and tosses it into the bin.

“You better stop this, Mom. It’s killing you.”

Fumiko just studies him with that same tender gaze, a smile tugging at her mouth.

“Just last month, you’d sneak my cigarettes. Now look at you, scolding me like your father.”

Ryoma frowns, struggling to recall. Then it hits him. He really did, the memory is vivid enough to make him sigh, shoulders sinking in reluctant defeat.

Before he can answer, his phone rings. He checks the screen, and it’s an unknown number.

Raising a hand to excuse himself, he accepts the call.

“Ryoma Takeda speaking.”

[Ah, glad I reached the right number. This is Kirizume Daigo. So… Takeda-kun, how are you? I trust Renji didn’t hurt you too badly.]

Ryoma’s eyes narrow. Of all people, he didn’t expect this man to call. And of all feelings, dislike rises first.

“I’m fine. If you asked me for another spar tomorrow, I’d show up without complaint.”

[Is that so…?]

“If you don’t believe me, come see for yourself.”

[No, no. I’d prefer we meet on other terms. And from the sound of it… you’re free tomorrow, aren’t you?]

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m jobless, sure. Boxing’s all I’ve got, and even then I need recovery time. So enough small talk, what do you want?”

[You seem like the no-nonsense type. I like that. But this isn’t something I can talk about over the phone. Can we meet tomorrow?]

“…Sure! I’ll wait for you at the gym.”

[No, no… I can’t do this in a crappy place like that.]

“Hey, hey… I know our gym can’t be compared to yours. But…”

[There’s a place in Shirokanedai… Quintessence. Quiet, exclusive. The kind of spot where serious deals get made.]

The name alone shuts Ryoma up. His gut twists, there’s something off here, something he can’t quite place, but it reeks of trouble.

[Be there tomorrow, seven in the evening. And trust me… this might be the kind of deal you can’t walk away from.]

With that, Kirizume hangs up, not even leaving Ryoma room to say no.

Ryoma could just blow it off, spend tomorrow helping his mother at the shop, pretend none of this ever happened.

But Quintessence isn’t just any restaurant. It’s a place for the wealthy, the powerful, the sort of people who don’t waste their time unless it’s about something that matters, something that could change his life.

It’s the kind of invitation you don’t ignore, even when every instinct tells you to.