VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Back in the ring, the third round ticks down to its final ten seconds. Both corners hammer the apron, their shouts cutting through the noise, signaling the countdown.

But neither fighter shifts gears. Their rhythm stays the same; steady, cautious, stubborn.

Aramaki still hasn’t landed a clean punch. His gloves touch air or Junpei’s guard, nothing breaks through.

He looks lost, still struggling to catch the rhythm, to read Junpei’s timing.

At least, that’s how it seems to everyone watching.

And then…

Ding!

The bell rings. The third round ends.

Junpei raises his hand, something he almost never does. It’s not to boast, but out of instinct, a flicker of satisfaction and relief, the feeling of control returning.

Aramaki turns to his corner. His face is clouded, but his steps are steady. The bruises bloom under the lights, one cheek swelling.

Yet something has shifted in his eyes, not just the grim resolve of a father ready to bleed, but the quiet certainty of a boxer who’s finally seen something in the struggle.

From the commentator’s booth, a voice cuts in:

“Three rounds down, and Junpei’s running away with it, unless Aramaki’s hiding something we don’t see.”

“Yeah, there’s no way he’s letting it end like this. We’ve seen his fight with Ryoma. Aramaki’s more than this.”

But the crowd doesn’t buy it. Murmurs ripple through the seats; doubt, impatience, a few jeers.

“He’s done.”

“This guy’s out of his depth.”

“Knock him out, Junpei! Don’t drag it!”

“Ten rounds? He’s not even ready for five!”

“He couldn’t even survive the first round of the rookie tournament!”

The noise builds; a restless mix of disbelief and boredom, the kind that sours a fight before it’s halfway through.

At ringside, Logan Rhodes and his daughter have already returned to their seats. He watches the crowd’s reaction with a calm knowing smirk.

It’s exactly what he expected, a fight too one-sided to stir excitement, a poor investment of time and money, a bad business night disguised as a boxing match.

He leans toward Reika, voice low but certain. “Told you it was a mistake. Your friend’s gonna lose that bet for sure.”

Reika doesn’t answer. She keeps her eyes on the ring, lips pressed tight, as if hoping the story isn’t over yet.

Unlike her father, she’d watched Aramaki’s fight against Ryoma. He lost that night, yes. But there was something in that loss that moved her, something Aramaki hasn’t shown tonight.

But there’s a reason for that. Call it strategy. Call it restraint. Either way, Aramaki’s been holding something back.

***

And to say Nakahara hasn’t learned anything from those first three rounds would be an insult. He’s old, but his eyes are still sharp.

“So,” Nakahara says, crouching in front of his fighter. “What do you think? Was it part of his strategy, or just a habit?”

Aramaki glances toward the red corner. Then he looks back at Nakahara and nods.

“I’m sure it’s a habit,” he says. “And I don’t think he even realizes it yet.”

“Good.” Nakahara exhales, a weary smile tugging at his mouth. “Those first three rounds weren’t in vain. But they will be if you don’t use them well.”

“Should I go for it in the next round?” Aramaki asks.

Nakahara goes quiet. His gaze drifts sideways, measuring the noise, the rhythm of the fight, the seconds ticking down. When he looks back, his tone softens, uncertainty flickering beneath his calm.

“Listen,” he says. “You might not get the same chance twice. If you act too soon and miss, Junpei will catch on. And he’ll lock you out. So don’t rush it. Wait for that one perfect moment. When you see it, seize it. No hesitation. Put everything on the line.”

The crowd still jeers, shouting Aramaki’s name in mockery. But Aramaki doesn’t flinch. He nods once, firm and calm.

Nakahara nods back, tightens his fist, and taps it against Aramaki’s thigh.

“Believe in yourself,” he says. “You’re far better than they give you credit for.”

***

On the other side of the ring, confidence is running high. The fight’s been one-sided from the start.

In their eyes, there’s no reason to change a thing. Aramaki still looks lost, still fighting in the dark.

Part of that confidence comes from Junpei. He’s executed the plan perfectly. The rest comes from belief that Aramaki’s still at rookie level, out of his depth.

After all, a man who lost in the first round of the Rookie Tournament can’t suddenly turn into a threat.

Seeing how Junpei’s dominated every exchange only cements that view. The crowd’s jeers echo their verdict.

Coach Junji leans close as he wipes sweat from Junpei’s face, still trying to bring back the fighter’s old confidence, the one shattered after his loss to Serrano.

“See? That’s how you do it,” he says with a grin. “You’re in control again. Just like old times.”

Junpei nods, breathing evenly. “Yeah. Feels good to be back.”

Junji pats his shoulder. “Don’t let up. This one’s yours. Keep it clean, keep it smart. You’ve already got him figured out.”

Junpei’s smile tightens, pride flickering with something else. It’s relief, maybe, the fragile glow of a man who’s been waiting to feel this sure of himself again.

Then the ref’s voice cuts through the air.

“Seconds out!”

Junji gives Junpei’s shoulder one last pat before slipping through the ropes. From behind, an assistant calls out.

“Keep the pressure, Junpei! Don’t give him a second wind!”

Junpei exhales through his nose and nods. The sound of the crowd, the bright lights, the rhythmic chant of his name, all of it feels right again.

Almost enough to make him forget the last time he lost.

***

The ring clears. Both fighters stand ready.

Junpei bounces lightly, believing he can carry this rhythm to the end. Across the ring, Aramaki stands still, arms loose, breathing steady, focus tightening.

And the…

Ding!

The fourth round begins.

Aramaki steps toward center, but Junpei seizes it back with his flicker jabs; relentless, crisp, like he’s been reborn.

And just like before, Aramaki struggles to find range, forced to deal with left after left. He slips one, and then…

Dsh! Dsh! Dsh!

One snaps his cheek, the next two he blocks.

Back in the locker room, Ryoma fumes. It’s already the fourth round, long enough for his coach to spot Junpei’s weakness. But still, nothing changes.

“Come on, old man,” he mutters. “Don’t you even want to win this fight?”

Then he sees Aramaki start slipping and blocking the flickers more cleanly, closing the distance, throwing two sharp hooks inside.

Only one lands…

Dug!

…and even that’s blocked.

Junpei cuts the momentum with a counter right, slipping away again.

Aramaki blocks, and Junpei’s already gone, out of reach.

And Ryoma throws his arms up. “See? That was your chance! How could you miss that?”

But Aramaki isn’t missing anything. Neither is Nakahara.

It’s part of their strategy. It’s a setup.

Aramaki forces his way in again, eats the flickers, then lets Junpei reset, reclaiming range.

And there, he sees it, that look in Junpei’s eyes, that overconfidence.

“Fine,” Aramaki mutters. “Let’s test it out.”

He bumps his gloves together, resets his stance, weaving his torso, slipping past flickers.

He even lets two lefts snap his cheek, on purpose, feeding Junpei’s confidence. Then he steps in, pumping his right for a hook.

Junpei answers with his usual counter, cutting it with a right, meant to stop momentum. Aramaki blocks it, lets Junpei step back on habit.

And this time, he’s ready, he’s expecting it.

He bends his right knee, coils like a spring, and steps in again, almost like a front jump, catching Junpei mid-step back.

Swssh… BAM!

Junpei blocks the body blow, but he’s off balance, only one foot planted.

He tries to steady, but a left body blow slams deep into his gut.

BUG!!!

His face flushes red. He can’t even breathe.

He buckles, guard dropping, and Aramaki crashes in with four body hooks.

Dug! Dug! Dug! Dug!

Junpei blocks them all, but the force drives him back, locking his guard down on his ribs.

That’s when Aramaki caps it with a sharp hook upstairs.

BAM!

It cracks against Junpei’s temple, jerking his head sideways.

Aramaki swings again, another hook, but…

Zrrff!

…the punch only cuts empty air, as Junpei’s right knee hits the canvas first.

Down!