VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Hattori’s expression hardens. He whirls on the youngest staffer, the very one he had sent to fetch the replacement.

“You! Idiot! You brought me a broken scale? Do you have any idea what this means? Fix it. Now.”

The boy pales, bowing frantically. “I… I’m so sorry, Hattori-san. I’ll calibrate it right away!”

Hattori simply waves him off with exaggerated frustration. “Then hurry. And call back everyone who’s weighed in. We can’t trust a single result until this is corrected.”

The room roars in protest.

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Again?”

“This is a circus!”

Then Hattori calls a name, not Ryoma’s, but…

“Toru Kanzaki from Minato Bayside Gym. Please step forward. We need to repeat the weighing…”

Nakahara snaps. He storms forward, seizes Hattori by the collar, yanking him close enough to smell his breath.

“Enough of this bullshit!” he roars. “Stop stalling and weigh my fighter. Or what…? Did Kirizume already pay you to drag this out?”

The room goes dead silent. Fighters and staff freeze, the accusation hanging like a blade.

Hattori’s eyes flash, but his smile doesn’t break. “Careful with your tongue. That’s a baseless accusation. I could take this straight to the commissioner… and you’d be finished.”

“Good,” Nakahara snarls. “Take it to the commissioner then. We’ve got a room full of witnesses who’ve seen your little stunt.”

The tension spikes, the two men locked in a stare sharp enough to cut glass, until a hand presses on Nakahara’s arm.

“Coach… just let it go,” Ryoma says quietly, but with iron beneath it.

After the scale been calibrated, Ryoma climbs onto it again. This time the needle settles cleanly, just barely under the limit.

Ryoma keeps his glare fixed on Hattori, steady and unblinking, as if daring him to twist it again.

“There… 58.6. Note it down.”

Hattori clicks his tongue in irritation, scribbling on his sheet with a little more force than needed.

Ryoma pulls his clothes back on without a word. His movements are slow, mechanical, but steady. Then he turns and heads straight for the door.

“Oi, we’re not finished here,” Hattori calls after him. “Your opponent still has to weigh in. Show a little respect at least.”

Ryoma keeps his silence, eyes fixed forward. The man is a hypocrite, and Ryoma is sure Kirizume has slipped him money.

Nakahara and Hiroshi follow him, both wearing the same dark silence, resentment barely contained.

The moment they step out of JBC headquarters, Hiroshi is already unscrewing the cap of a bottle. He presses it into Ryoma’s hands before a word is spoken.

“Slow,” he warns. “Sip, don’t gulp. Every cell in your body is screaming for water, but if you flood it now, you’ll cramp before morning.”

Ryoma obeys, tilting the bottle just enough to wet his lips, then again, another sip. The relief is instant but faint, a spark where there should be fire.

Back at the gym, it’s already past three o’clock. Hiroshi has had everything ready: pre-measured bottles of electrolyte solution, chicken broth cooling in a pot, rice kept warm, bananas peeled and portioned.

Ryoma lowers himself onto the bench, moving as if his bones are heavier than the rest of him.

“You’ve got twenty-four hours,” Hiroshi says, voice calm but edged with authority. “Every sip, every bite, exactly as I tell you. No shortcuts, no overdoing it. Otherwise all the hell you went through making weight won’t mean a thing tomorrow.”

Nakahara just watches from the corner, arms folded, his jaw still locked tight from the day’s farce at JBC.

The faintest trace of color creeps back into Ryoma’s face as he drinks. But it does little to ease the old man’s worry.

Now Nakahara no longer thinks about winning or losing. He’s wondering if his fighter will walk out of the ring whole, or be broken beyond repair.

***

The ring isn’t the only place futures get tested. Sometimes, love has its own weigh-in, and not everyone makes the limit.

While Ryoma works to recover his body, elsewhere Kaede faces a different struggle: the pressure of deadlines inside her advertising firm.

The office isn’t built for solitude but for collective grind, with a supervisor, Kotake Shiba, overseeing the team from the middle.

But somehow, Kaede’s focus slips from the screen in front of her. No matter how she tries, her thoughts drift elsewhere.

“It’s been weeks… and not once has he called.”

Her phone sits beside the keyboard. She picks it up, turns it in her hand, unlocks the screen, and then locks it again. She could call him, she wants to. But for once, she wants him to call first.

Well instead a call from Ryoma, a whisper breaks her reverie.

“Hey, isn’t tomorrow the first round of the rookie tournament?”

Kaede turns to one female coworker next to her, and blinks.

“Rookie Tournament?”

“Didn’t your boyfriend tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Before that coworker can press further, Shiba cuts in without lifting his eyes from his laptop.

“Your prodigy boy. He’s fighting tomorrow in some rookie tournament.”

Kaede turns to him, her expression blank, still catching up.

Shiba shakes his head, smirking. “He really didn’t tell you, huh? Maybe it’s not that important to him. Or maybe, it’s you…”

Kaede frowns. “What do you mean, Shiba-san?”

“I heard a little story,” Shiba says. “After that flashy KO in his debut, he nearly beat Renji Kuroiwa. Word is he looked damn good. Probably already getting popular with the girls.”

That coworker beside Kaede gasps, nearly spilling her pen. “Wait… the champion? That Renji? You’re kidding!”

“Calm down, Aemi! It was only a spar,” Shiba says, feigning modesty on Ryoma’s behalf.

But the girl named Aemi, an eager boxing fan, already has her browser open, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Knew that guy was special,” she mutters. “Kaede, you’ve really found yourself a gem.”

Kaede glances sideways just in time to see Aemi click “purchase.” The tickets aren’t sold out yet, and Aemi just calls out to the group.

“Anyone wants to join us?” she asks, eyes sparkling.

A girl across the table raises a hand. “Count me in!”

Then a man beside her. “Me too!”

“Okay, two more tickets,” Aemi says, her fingers already dancing on the keyboard. “Sure, it’s just rookies. But believe me, Kaede’s boyfriend is the real deal. Oh, Shiba-san, what about you?”

Shiba’s lips tighten, but he hides it by burying himself in his laptop. “Some of us actually have works to finish. And Kaede… don’t forget your deadline.”

He pauses just long enough for the room to go quiet, then adds without looking at her.

“And one more thing… don’t waste your life on some teenager. Kids that age never know what they want, least of all loyalty. You’d be a fool to stake your future on someone who might not even remember you once the spotlight hits.”

The words cut sharper than he lets on, wrapped in the tone of a warning but dripping with contempt.

“Boss, that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Aemi pipes up, smirking childishly. “You talk like some old man who’s been divorced twice.”

A couple of chuckles ripple through the team, but Kaede keeps her eyes locked on the screen as her thoughts drift inward.

She can’t dismiss Shiba’s words, not when they echo doubts she’s already carried. Ryoma has felt different lately, distant, and they haven’t spoken since that afternoon at the barbershop.

And now, unbidden, another image surfaces in her mind, Reika Takamori. The thought bites deeper than she wants to admit.

Can she really expect loyalty and steadiness, or even a place for herself, in the life of someone still unshaped by the world?

The questions knot tighter. For the first time in weeks, the gap in their ages doesn’t feel like a number. It feels like a wall.