VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Back at Nakahara Gym, late afternoon.

The winter light slants low through the windows, bleaching everything into gray. Reporters still crowd the ring, recorders thrust forward like hungry mouths.

This time, Nakahara lets them.

Ryoma sits on the ring apron, towel draped over his shoulders, his posture relaxed but distant. His gaze never wavers, even as the reporters crowd closer.

“Ryoma-kun, word is Ayano called you a coward earlier today. Said you ran away from the Rookie Final. Any comment on that?” one of them asks, leaning forward, recorder held out like bait.

But Ryoma doesn’t blink. “I see,” he says evenly. “If that’s what he said, then I’ll just do my best to give him a good fight.”

Another reporter cuts in before the first can follow up. “So you’re not denying it? You don’t think he’s just trying to get inside your head?”

Ryoma shakes his head slowly, his tone steady but detached. “He can say what he wants. Talking’s part of the game, right? What matters is what happens in the ring.”

The two reporters glance at each other, disappointed. They were hoping for fire. But Ryoma gives them calm.

There’s no irritation, no heat, no a trace of anger at all. It’s just simply formality, almost like he’s talking about someone else’s match.

They keep trying to provoke him, asking if he’s afraid, if he’s lost confidence after forfeiting the Rookie Finals. But nothing cracks his composure. Ryoma’s tone stays soft, almost detached.

Aramaki lingers by the wall, unlacing his gloves. He’s on the same card as Ryoma, but no one’s here for him.

He knows what they’re thinking, knows none of them will ever look his way. But he doesn’t take it personally.

He just shrugs into his coat, gives a brief wave to the others, and steps out into the cold.

Ryoma notices him leaving and calls out, easy and casual.

“Hey, Aramaki! Say hi to Kaori and Nanako for me!”

“Yeah, sure!”

Even with Ryoma drawing attention to him, the reporters don’t turn. They stay fixed where they are, pressing closer to Ryoma. No one shows the slightest interest in Aramaki.

***

By the time Aramaki reaches home, dusk has already settled. The small hut crouches against the wind, its roof lined with frost.

The door creaks open, and a high cheerful sound greets him. It’s the little Nanako, crawling fast toward the entryway.

Kaori appears from the kitchen, hair tied loosely, sleeves rolled up, rushing to the baby. But Aramaki scoops the baby up first before she can trip.

“Whoa there,” Aramaki laughs softly, he tiny hands clutch at his jacket, cold against his neck.

“Welcome home,” Kaori says, smiling. “I’ll heat the bath for you.”

Aramaki nods, still holding the baby. “You sure? It’s freezing out there.”

“Better than freezing in here,” she says, grinning faintly before heading out to the back.

The smell of burning wood soon fills the air as she lights the stove for the hot water.

Aramaki sits at the kitchen table, Nanako now in his lap, her small fingers grabbing at his collar. Right now, the backyard is just a patch of earth, covered in frost where their garden used to be.

Kaori joins him after a while, sitting across. For a few seconds, they just watch the faint steam rising outside.

Then she breaks the silent. “There’s still a few months before we can plant again. But the money from the last harvest… it’s all gone.”

Aramaki turns his head. “What about the money I gave you?”

Kaori hesitates, and then looks up at him with a sheepish grin. “That’s gone too.”

Aramaki chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded stack of bills.

Kaori takes the money, starts counting, and freezes. Not by the winter, but by the amount Aramki gave to her.

“Thirty-five thousand yen,” she says, her face lights up instantly. “You’re kidding! Aramaki, this is already the fourth time… Where’d you get this?”

“Ryoma gave it to me,” Aramaki says. “Back when he won the Tokyo Block Final.”

She smiles, almost amazed. “So he’s generous, huh?”

“Yeah,” Aramaki says. “Not just to me. He shared some with the other guys too.”

He pauses, then adds, “If I win my next fight, I’ll get a purse too. Not much, but once I’m Class-A… the paydays start getting bigger.”

Kaori’s smile widens. “That’s wonderful.”

Aramaki smiles too, but something twists inside him. Gratitude, love, fear, all tangled into something heavy. She deserves more than this. Their baby too, Nanako, deserves much more than this.

When the bath water is ready, Aramaki heads outside to wash. The cold bites hard against his skin. He takes off his pants, pulls the last few coins and bills from his pocket, and sets them aside.

Not much left, just three crumpled bills, a few coins, that’s all. The money he’d given Kaori earlier wasn’t spare cash. It was everything he had left.

He stares at it for a long moment, his breath fogging in the cold. Then, quietly, he folds the money in his fist, the paper crinkling under his grip.

His face stays still. But in his eyes, there’s a new kind of resolve, the kind born not from ambition, but from hunger.

Whatever it takes, he’ll make sure his family never feels the cold this way again.

***

But having resolve isn’t enough. It’s not like the answers come to you just because you’ve slept on it.

Before dawn, when the winter air is at its coldest, Aramaki is already on the move, not to the gym, but to the Minamiazabu district, where the rich live behind gates and manicured hedges.

His brother’s house sits on a quiet slope, a two-story home of pale stone and glass. Even from the street, Aramaki can see the faint glow from the foyer chandelier, the kind of light you never turn off, because someone else is paying the bill.

Standing there, he realizes his whole house could fit inside that foyer twice over.

Aramaki reaches the gate just as his older brother steps out, dressed in a dark wool coat, briefcase in hand.

Then he calls out, breath misting in the cold.

“Morning, Shinji.”

The older brother stops beside his car, the keys still in his hand. He stares at Aramaki, but doesn’t greet him back. His face holds the same cold weight as the snow settling on his roof.

Aramaki hesitates, forcing the words out, voice low and hoarse. “Please… I just need a little help. Not much. Just enough to get by for a few weeks… I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my purse money.”

Shinji says nothing, not even a sigh. He just opens the car door, gets in, and starts the engine. Aramaki steps back as the car reverses, the exhaust clouding white around his legs.

For a moment, he thinks Shinji might stop right beside him. But the car pulls out, brushing past him like he’s not there.

He stands there a while, watching the taillights shrink into the fog. His hands are half-raised, like he might call out. But he doesn’t. He just lets the silence close around him.

Then, through the wide window, he catches a glimpse of Shinji’s wife, half-hidden behind the curtain, watching him.

Aramaki lowers his head slightly, and then raises his collar against the wind, hiding his face as he turns away.