VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The night air slaps against his skin the moment he bursts outside, cool, thin, biting just enough to sting the sweat on his skin. Streetlights flare against the pale concrete, throwing long shadows over the exit ramp of Korakuen Hall.

Ryoma fumbles with his phone, thumb trembling as he calls. The screen lights his face in cold blue, but no answer. He calls again, but still nothing.

His breath fogs in the air. The city isn’t loud, but it feels far away, like all the sound’s been swallowed by the static in his head.

“Come on… pick up.” His voice cracks, low and hoarse.

Then a group of fans near the gate notice him. “Takeda! The rookie champ!” one shouts.

Ryoma doesn’t hear them. He’s already pacing toward the curb, eyes darting along the street for a taxi.

The road outside Korakuen is almost deserted. The echoes of the crowd are trapped inside the hall; muffled roars, distant commentary, the sound of a night still unfolding without him.

The event isn’t even halfway through; most of the audience is still in their seats.

But then…

“Ryoma?”

It’s Shimizu, coming from behind him, the rest of the group trailing behind, already intending to leave right after Ryoma’s fight.

“Hey,” Shimizu calls out, jogging closer, “that was crazy back there! You were…”

But he stops mid-sentence when he sees Ryoma’s face.

“Yo… you okay, kid?”

Ryoma keeps walking, pacing around, still pressing redial. The phone buzzes against his ear, but it’s still useless.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Shimizu asks again, moving in front of him now.

Ryoma stops just long enough to glance at the screen. He calls again, but still no answer.

“Talk to me, kid,” Shimizu says, grabbing his shoulder. “What happened?”

Ryoma’s eyes meet his. They’re wet, unfocused.

“My mom…”

He tries the number again and again, still pacing around, scanning the street.

“Wait, wait,” Shimizu blurts out suddenly. “Oh… that’s right. Your mom called earlier.”

Ryoma freezes. “What?”

“She called me. During your match. Asked about you.” Shimizu scratches his head, nervous. “But she sounded kinda weird. Worried, maybe? But then the call cut off. My battery died.”

Ryoma’s chest tightens. Then his head turns, eyes catching old Ennosuke getting out of the hall.

“Ennosuke-san!”

The old man startles, drops the cigarette from his lips. “Kid? What are you… you look like hell.”

“Where’s your car?” Ryoma pants. “I need a ride. Now.”

Ennosuke stares at him for half a second, then tosses the cigarette away and waves him over.

“Come. Follow me.”

They run together, heading to where Ennosuke parked his taxi. Ryoma dives into the passenger seat in the front, still gripping his phone. “Home,” he says, breath ragged. “Fast.”

The old cab lurches from the curb, engine growling.

And Ryoma’s already dialing again. His voice is shaking now.

“Please, Mom… pick up…”

Ennosuke glances at him. “Kid, what’s going on?”

Ryoma opens his mouth, tries to explain, but the words won’t come. His thoughts keep tripping over each other, too heavy, too fast.

Then he just presses a hand to his head. “Just drive!”

“Where to?”

“My house. Please, just go.”

Ennosuke nods once, leans on the gas.

***

Tokyo rushes past, shop lights, vending machines, the glow of passing buses. Ryoma keeps his eyes on the phone, the words ’Calling…’ flashing over and over again.

He whispers, barely breathing, “Please, Mom… pick up…”

The night air slips through the half-open window, cool against his damp skin, but he doesn’t feel it. His mind is racing, connecting fragments, dragging up memories he’d buried.

His mom had died of an overdose in his previous life. Back then, he never looked deeper. She’s a heavy smoker, so he just assumed she’d also fallen into addiction after he left her. It’s something he couldn’t bear to face, so he never tried to learn the truth.

But now, replaying everything; her nervousness before the match, the restless tone in her voice, the pale face, the shiver in her fingers, the calls he’d missed, now a different thought cuts through him.

Overdoses aren’t always about addiction. She might have been taking something, medication to quiet her fear, to ease her anxiety. Maybe it wasn’t an addiction. Maybe it was pain.

His chest tightens. Why didn’t I see it sooner? Why didn’t I ask her, watch her, notice anything?

It hits him how little he’d really known her, how much he’d been focused on his own fights. And now, if history’s repeating itself, it might already be too late.

“Please… Mom, pick up the phone…”

His voice breaks. He feels his throat tighten, tears slipping free before he notices. His body shakes, the sound of his own sobs mixing with the low hum of the engine.

Ennosuke glances again, eyes soft with worry.

“Kid…”

That pity look on him snaps something inside Ryoma.

“Ennosuke-san!” he shouts, his voice raw. “Drive faster!”

“Oh… yes, yes! Sorry!”

The old man jerks forward, pressing harder on the pedal. And the engine growls, the car lurches ahead.

Ryoma clutches the phone with both hands, whispering into it as the city streaks by outside.

“Please, Mom… just answer…”

***

By the time they reach that Y-juction, Ryoma sees the light in his mother’s barbershop still on. A small hope surges, and he tells Ennosuke to pull off right in front of the shop.

He gets out of the cab, and bursts into the shop, the bell above the door crashing against the frame.

“Mom…?”

Inside, a chair lies on its side, scissors scattered across the floor. His mother is slumped on the floor, half-conscious, her breathing uneven. There’s Kaede crouched beside her, phone pressed to her ear.

“She’s barely responding!” Kaede cries into the phone, and then looks up, startled. “Ryoma, your mom…!”

Ryoma’s already moving. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. We just had a talk. Then she said she was dizzy, and then… she just collapsed!”

Ryoma drops to his knees beside his mom, his hands trembling as he lifts her upright. Her eyes flutter at his touch, unfocused but alive.

“Mom… hey, hey, stay with me, okay?” His voice cracks. “You’re fine, you’re going to be fine.”

Kaede stands, panicked. “The ambulance is on the way, but they said it could take a while!”

“Forget that,” Ryoma says, his voice suddenly sharp. “We’re taking her ourselves. Ennosuke-san! We need to get to the hospital! Now!”

Ennosuke reacts instantly. “Right, get her in!”

Kaede runs ahead, throwing open the passenger door. Ryoma carries Fumiko in his arms, her weight light but terrifying. He slides into the back seat, cradling her against his chest.

“Go!”

The car surges forward. Kaede twists around in her seat, still clutching her phone. “She’s breathing, but it’s shallow! We’re taking her ourselves now.”

Ryoma presses his forehead against his mother’s hair, his voice a broken whisper.

“Hold on, Mom… please, hold on…”

His arms tighten around her.

“Don’t leave me again… please…”

Fumiko stirs faintly, her lips moving, a small sound escaping a breath, a name.

“Ryoma…”

He breaks crying, the tears come without warning, silent at first, then uncontrollable. The city races past the window, neon, shadows, headlights, but none of it matters.

Ennosuke doesn’t look back, doesn’t speak. He just drives, faster than he has in years, until the hospital lights appear up ahead.