VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Moments later, the door closes with a soft click. Reika listens until her father’s footsteps fade down the hall, and then she slowly pulls the blanket away.

She turns toward the screen. Ryoma’s frozen face still lingers there, calm, almost alive in the blue light.

“What the heck…” she murmurs. “How did he know him?”

The question gnaws at her, but another thought follows. Maybe it’s not that strange. Ryoma’s name has been everywhere lately. After the fight with Serrano, the internet went wild.

She sits up, pushes her hair back, and wakes the screen with a tap. A browser window opens, tabs still left from before.

She only types “Ryoma,” and to her surprise, even the search recommendations are filled with Ryoma’s face, thumbnails, foreign headlines.

“It’s insane…” she murmurs.

Watching it now, she feels something stir inside her. A pride slowly shifts to something close to greed.

Her hand moves almost on its own, opening a new tab, a folder buried deep in her drive, the one labeled “Nakahara Gym / Footage”.

Inside are clips she shot herself; short videos of Ryoma training, captured under the excuse of making a “mini documentary” for promotion.

It’s to show her dad, she’d said, just a harmless project. It was a lie for personal interest. And tonight, it’s an object for something else.

She clicks one file open, Ryoma sparring with Ryohei inside a shrunken ring. She replays the moment twice before dragging the file into her editor.

Then she trims the footage, a clean thirty-second clip of movement. She opens her social media tab, her barely used X account.

After a few seconds of thought, she types:

“The calm before everything #RyomaTakeda #Boxing”

Then she presses post, and the upload bar crawls across the screen. When it finishes, she sits back and exhales, watching the view counter stay at zero.

“…There,” she whispers. “It’s my turn.”

The room falls silent again. Except this time, it’s a silence that feels charged, like something new has begun to move.

“Now it’s just a matter of time… before it turns into another trending topic.”

***

The next morning, the first thing that comes to her mind after waking up isn’t the bath. It’s her post on X.

Still half-asleep, Reika reaches for her phone on the nightstand. The screen’s glow stings her eyes for a moment, and then focuses into numbers, notifications, tags, mentions.

And there, her breath catches.

“Hollly shiiit…”

The post she uploaded last night has blown up. She scrolls, disbelieving, hundreds of retweets, thousands of views, comments in three different languages.

Then a laugh slips out of her before she can stop it, too sharp, almost a yell.

“Wuoohooo!!! Now I’m famous too…”

“Reika?!” Her mother’s voice suddenly rises from downstairs. “What’s going on up there?”

Reika freezes. “N-nothing!”

“Then come eat before it gets cold!”

“Okay!”

Her pulse won’t slow down. The thrill surges under her skin, until her eyes drift to the desk. But the magazine from last night is gone.

“Eh, where is it…?”

She blinks, and then checks the floor, the chair, under the blanket. But she can’t find it, and a sinking feeling crawls up her throat.

“No way… was it…” she swallows hard. “Was it dad…?”

She is hesitating only a second before heading for the door. No bath, not even washing her face, Reika just goes straight downstairs.

And there she sees his father, Logan Rhodes, at the table, coffee in one hand, the same magazine open in another hand.

The morning light falls clean through the window, catching the pale yellow of his hair. His tie is already knotted, jacket folded neatly over the chair, glasses shining faintly. Logan isn’t turning the page. His eyes stay fixed on it, still and focus.

Reika hesitates nearby, her throat feels dry. She forces herself to move closer, pulls out a chair, and sits down across from him.

Then Logan lowers the magazine, sets it beside his plate, and takes a slow sip of coffee. When he looks up and stares at her, his expression doesn’t change.

And Reika fidgets. “W-what?”

Logan speaks in English, his voice even, almost flat. “I heard you took my car to Kobe yesterday.”

It’s not a question, not even a scolding, just a flat statement. And Reika’s shoulders tighten because of it.

“I… I was just…”

He cuts her off with a small shake of his head, not hiding his disappointment.

“You know, I’ve ignored a lot of things,” he says. “Your grades. The year you wasted after high school. The fact that you’ve done absolutely nothing since then.”

Then he sets the cup down, the porcelain touching the saucer with a small click.

“You had everything. The kind of support most kids only dream about. And yet here you are, still drifting. Tell me, Reika. What do you actually want?”

Reika looks down at her hands, and then forces a thin smile. “I told you already. I want to work for NSN.”

“Work for NSN?” Logan repeats, dryly. “And what do you think you’d do there? Clean the floors? With your education, that’s probably all I could offer. Though honestly, I’m not sure you could manage even that. You can’t even do your own laundry.”

“But you let Jack sit on the board!” she snaps. “You talk about merit, but you gave him everything just because he’s your son!”

“I gave him schooling,” Logan says calmly. “And he used it. That’s merit.”

He glances at the magazine beside him, then back at her.

“What about you? Wasting your time chasing some random boxer?”

Reika follows his glance. Ryoma’s face stares up from the page.

“He’s not some random guy,” she says, voice trembling but fierce. “He’s the best talent Japan has right now. Maybe the best in history. You’ll see, he’s going to rule the boxing world in five years. It’s why I went so far to Kobe with Aki, to make sure of that.”

Logan raises one eyebrow. “Aki? That journalist friend of yours?”

“Yes,” Reika says quickly. “She’s followed Ryoma since Interhigh. He just won the East Japan Rookie King Tournament. Soon, he will fight for the All-Japan Rookie King Final against a boxer from Kobe.”

Logan lets out a quiet chuckle, the kind that barely reaches his eyes. “Oh, he’s just a rookie then.”

Before Reika can answer, her mother’s voice comes from the kitchen. “That’s enough, you two,” she says, setting a small plate on the kitchen table. “Dear, you’ll be late for work again.”

But Logan’s gaze stays fixed on Reika. The faint sound of running water fades, leaving only the ticking clock between them.

Reika presses her lips together. Her fingers tighten slightly on the table. She knows that look, cold and assessing, the same one that’s measured her for years.

But then, something flickers in her eyes, a sudden spark beneath the quiet.

“Alright,” she says. “What if I prove it to you?”

Logan tilts his head. “Prove what?”

“That he’s worth it,” she says, leaning forward, her voice tightening with conviction. “That I can make him someone NSN will want. And when that happens, I’ll be the one to bring him in. I’ll make him yours. If I pull that off… you’ll let me work there.”