VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Only once Kaede and her friend vanish down the corridor does Reika finally turn on her heel. Her expression settles back into cool composure.

The message Kaede left for Ryoma lingers in the air, but Reika carries nothing with her, except her own quiet satisfaction.

“Let’s go, Aki,” she says, already moving the other way.

Aki trails after her, biting her lip, eyes narrowing as if she’s watching a line being crossed. Until finally, she blurts it out.

“Reika… you know that was Ryoma’s girlfriend, right? Don’t you think you’re pushing too far?”

Reika doesn’t flinch. She smooths a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile faint but deliberate.

“Girlfriend?” she repeats, the word rolling off her tongue as if it’s something trivial. “Strange… I don’t recall Ryoma ever saying that himself.”

Aki stops dead in front of Reika, staring at her. “You’re seriously going to pretend you don’t know?”

Reika’s gaze cool, almost amused. “Even if that’s true… so what? They’re not married, are they? These days, dating’s just passing time. The moment Ryoma loses, I’d wager she already has her next prospect lined up.”

The words hang in the air, careless on the surface, but with an edge sharp enough to cut. Aki feels it, a chill running down her spine, the certainty that Reika isn’t joking, and worse, that she means every word.

***

Once they step outside, Aki notices Tatsuki Aramaki off to the side, head tucked beneath a beanie, jacket collar raised high as if he wants to disappear into the night. The only reason she recognizes him is because their eyes meet for a brief instant.

“Aramaki-san…” she hurries over, her face creased with concern, the memory of his punishing match with Ryoma still raw. “What are you doing here?”

Aramaki pauses, looking at her with faint recognition, then tilts his head. “Ah… I remember you. What was your name again?”

“Fujimori Aki,” she answers, bowing slightly. “How’s your condition? Shouldn’t you be getting checked after that fight?”

But Aramaki just shakes his head with a gentle smile. He pulls his collar a little higher, hiding more of his face than his neck.

“Nothing left for me back there,” he says. “I lost the fight. Not even my Second and cutman were there tending to my injury.”

Aki’s face frowns. “Not even a doctor?”

He only shakes his head. To anyone else it might have seemed casual. But to Aki, it’s as clear as a confession. Kirizume has cast him aside.

“Excuse me,” Aramaki says quietly, bowing once. “My family is waiting for me at home.”

Turning on his heel, his figure slips away into the night, leaving Aki staring after him. There are still taxis around, but Aramaki decides to walk to the nearest station.

He still has a little money. But judging by how he ended it with his Second after the fight, there’s no guarantee Kirizume will pay him. Better to save every yen he can.

***

Despite the fatigue weighing on his limbs and the dull ache pounding through his body, Aramaki trudges on toward Suidōbashi Station. From there he rides the train south, swaying with the carriage until he reaches Kamata.

But even then, when he could change to a bus or hop the Keikyū for just one more stop, he doesn’t. Instead, he slips out of the station and takes to the streets on foot, facing a walk of more than 40 minutes before he’ll reach his humble hut, tucked away beyond the Tama River embankment.

All that hassle just to save ¥200. But two hundred yen is still two hundred yen, enough for a kilo of rice on discount, and that can keep his family’s stomachs quiet for a couple of days.

Before stepping inside, Aramaki composes himself, forcing a bright smile over the bruises.

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Welcome back,” Kaori’s voice answers from inside.

When she opens the door, concern quickly creases her face, though Aramaki’s grin sparks a moment of confusion.

“Aramaki… don’t tell me you won? Against Ryoma?”

Aramaki’s smile falters. “N-not really. Thinking I could beat him… that’s too much.”

Kaori’s expression softens with a trace of sadness, but not surprise. She never expected her husband to topple someone like Ryoma.

She simply takes his jacket gently. “Wait here, I’ll draw your bath.”

“No need,” Aramaki replies, slipping past her toward the kitchen.

He pauses only to glance at their baby sleeping soundly on a thin mattress before continuing out to the backyard.

There, beneath the open sky, he sinks onto the step with a long exhale, the weight of the day pressing down on him.

A moment later, Kaori joins him with a cup of tea. Aramaki smiles faintly, accepts it, and takes a sip. Then his gaze drifts toward the small row of lettuce sprouting in their patch of soil.

“Look at them,” he says, trying to brighten his voice. “Give it a little time and they’ll be overflowing. We’ll have more than we can eat.”

Kaori studies the plants, then shakes her head. “More than a month before they yield. You know that.”

Her tone is calm, but it brushes away his false cheer. Aramaki smiles, then lets his gaze drift toward the garden, swallowed in darkness like his future.

He’s abandoned his old gym, severed ties with Kirizume. And after fighting so poorly today, or at least that’s how it feels to him, he doubts any gym would want a loser like him now.

But he hides his sigh behind another sip of tea. His wife doesn’t need to know. What matters now is finding something else. The thought of quitting boxing already presses at the back of his mind.

***

Before long, a sound cuts through the evening quiet, the low growl of a car engine. It draws their curiosity, because in this lonely stretch by the river, cars rarely pass, and almost never stop.

Husband and wife trade a glance, maybe it’s nothing. But the noise lingers, idling, settling just outside.

“Who could that be?” Kaori whispers.

“I’ll check,” Aramakis says.

He steps into the front yard. And sure enough, a car has pulled to the roadside, engine still running. He recognizes it immediately, Kirizume’s car.

Then he sees the driver getting out, circling to the passenger side, and opens the door. No one emerges, but the driver simply stands there, eyes on Aramaki, as though inviting him closer.

Aramaki exhales. “What does he want now?”

He finally approaches, slips into the car, settling beside Kirizume. The driver shuts the door, leaving the engine idling. But the car does not move, because this conversation, it seems, is meant to stay here.

“You fought well tonight,” Kirizume says evenly, keeping his gaze straight. “But it didn’t go as we intended. You didn’t meet the requirement. Still…”

He finally turns toward Aramaki, expression smooth, unreadable.

“I acknowledge your potential. And my offer remains… join my management.”

Aramaki locks eyes with him, searching, trying to read the intent behind that flat tone.

“I watched the fight myself,” Kirizume goes on. “Four rounds might be too short. Given eight, maybe ten… and of course, with you training under my management, you will be able to break him.”