VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

But the whisper doesn’t stay private. Soon, Kenta’s heavy bag rhythm begins to slow, his gloves hanging mid-swing as his ear tilts their way. Okabe too, still wiping sweat from his neck, smirks and steps closer.

“You’re saying Coach is screwing up Ryoma’s training?” Kenta rumbles, his voice low but carrying across the room.

Ryohei stiffens, keeping his own voice restrained. “I’m saying, this kind of training will have a side effect, ruining his footwork. You all know that’s what makes him dangerous, his footwork.”

Okabe chuckles, tapping his temple with a wrapped finger. “Dangerous, huh? Look at him. He can barely stand up with baby weights.”

“Quiet, you too,” Hiroshi snaps, cutting a sharp glance between them. “Back to work. Coach knows what he’s doing.”

They are back to their training. But the sound of leather on bags and pads doesn’t quite recover its old rhythm. More than one pair of eyes keeps drifting toward Ryoma, squatting with trembling legs under Nakahara’s watch.

Ryoma could follow their restrained argument. But he keeps his face masked with enthusiasm, as if trying to erase Nakahara’s regret with every rep.

Sadly, he doesn’t last long. That body’s never trained with weights before, only drills on technique and form.

By the middle of the third set, his thighs are screaming, his knees wobbling like they might give out.

Hiding his concern, Ryohei breaks the tension by teasing him. “Look at those legs shake… like a newborn deer.”

Okabe smirks, leaning on the body pad. “All that fire in the ring, and now he’s about to topple over from baby weights.”

Ryoma pushes through another squat, gritting his teeth, but the burn climbs into his hips, spreading fire through his legs.

His balance falters, and this time there’s no recovering.

Blugh!

The dumbbells thud onto the mat as he collapses with them, dropping to the floor in a heap. He sprawls on his back, sweat streaking his forehead, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts.

“Dammit…” he whines, half laughing, half groaning. “I can’t… I can’t feel my legs anymore!”

Across the gym, Kenta smirks at the scene, shaking his head before resuming the heavy bag, though slower now, watching out of the corner of his eye.

Ryohei lets out a short chuckle, muttering something under his breath about rookie legs. Even Okabe cracks a grin, recognizing the pain Ryoma’s in all too well.

Hiroshi just shakes his head, a crooked smile tugging at his face. Even someone like Ryoma, gifted as he is, still shows cracks.

Then suddenly, the gym’s door slides open, and a bright voice rings out.

“Good day, everyone!”

All heads turn. Ryoma glances up from where he’s sprawled on the mat. It’s only Reika Fujimori, and unlike usual, she isn’t with Aki today.

Ryoma’s eyes barely linger. He pushes himself up, brushing sweat from his brow, and without a word, strides off toward the locker room.

Reika’s lips part, then press shut again as she watches his back disappear. A flicker of disappointment crosses her face.

Nakahara approaches, towel draped over his shoulder.

“Oh, you are…”

“Reika,” she supplies quickly.

“Ah, yes. Reika.”

He tilts his head slightly, as if expecting Aki to appear from the door. But there’s only silence.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asks.

Reika shifts her weight, searching for an excuse, her voice a shade hesitant. “I thought Aki was here.”

“But she’s not here,” Nakahara says evenly.

“Ah… maybe she’s on the way,” she says, forcing a naïve smile. “Is it alright if I wait for her here?”

“Of course,” Nakahara nods politely before turning away, walking toward Kenta.

The clamor of training resumes. Sandbags thud, mitts crack, the air thickens once more with the rhythm of effort.

Reika just sits on a bench, by herself, hands fidgeting in her lap, with nobody sparing her a glance.

The talk about Aki on the way here was a lie. The truth is, she hasn’t spoken to Aki since the night of Ryoma’s fight.

She told herself she would be bolder this time, that she would find a way to approach Ryoma. But all she finds is neglect.

She doesn’t belong here, no ties to Ryoma, no ties to the gym, nothing that anchors her in this place. For all her presence, she feels invisible, the outsider she’s always feared she is.

***

Moments later…

The locker room door creaks open. Ryoma steps out, his hair damp from a quick rinse, sweater pulled back over his shoulders. His face shows no trace of the collapse from earlier, only that same stubborn spark.

Reika straightens where she sits. She’s placed herself near Ryoma’s bag on the bench, telling herself this is the moment, finally her chance. If Ryoma comes for his bag, he’ll have no choice but to notice her, maybe even speak to her.

Her palms rub nervously against the thighs of her jeans, heart climbing into her throat as Ryoma’s footsteps draw nearer.

But sadly, Ryoma doesn’t spare her so much as a glance. His stride carries him straight for the exit, footsteps brisk, decisive.

“I’m heading out for road work,” he says flatly to Hiroshi as he passes.

Hiroshi blinks, caught off guard.

“Road work? Now?”

His eyes drop instinctively to Ryoma’s legs, the same legs that had given out not ten minutes ago.

“You couldn’t finish squats, and you want to pound pavement?”

Ryoma doesn’t answer. He just pulls his hood up, and starts running even before stepping out of the gym.

Hiroshi exhales, and then turns to the highschooler.

“Satoru!”

The youngster glances up.

“Yeah?”

“Go with him. Watch his legs. Don’t let him push too far.”

“Got it.”

Satoru leaves Okabe, and starts jogging after Ryoma.

Hiroshi lingers for a beat, then claps his hands.

“Alright, Ryohei! Mitt work, let’s go!”

He steps back into the rhythm of training, voice rising as he fixes Ryohei’s form. And just like that, Reika is forgotten again, left alone on the bench by the wall.

Minutes stretch, ten, twenty, half an hour. The clamor of the gym rolls on. Reika stays where she is, hands folded in her lap. Half an hour passes, then an hour, but still no sign of Ryoma coming back.

The noise around her is constant, but none of it touches her. No one looks her way, no one speaks to her. She shrinks into herself, caught between wanting to vanish completely and wishing desperately for a reason to belong.

Now the anticipation that had once fluttered in her chest curdles into something heavier, a dull ache of being left out.

At last, Nakahara approaches, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes flicking curiously toward her.

“Oh… you’re still here.” He pauses. “Aki hasn’t come yet?”

Reika forces a small grin, shaking her head. “Maybe she’s visiting another gym today. I should get going.”

Finally, she bows lightly, her smile tight and awkward, and slips out of the door.

Through the gym’s window, Nakahara can see her slipping into a car parked at the curb. But the engine never turns over.

Hiroshi joins him, then Ryohei, Okabe, and Kenta, all standing at the window. None of them speak, but they know what she was here for, and that Ryoma already has a girlfriend.

At last the car pulls away. That’s when Ryohei breaks the silent.

“Poor girl,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Chasing after a man who’s already given his heart to someone else.”

“If I were Ryoma,” Okabe smirks, “I’d bang both…”

Smack!

Nakahara clips him on the back of the head.

“Get back to your training!”

The others chuckle, but the sound dies quickly, replaced once more by the steady thud of heavy bags and the crack of mitts.