VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The crowd keeps roaring, even though Ayano’s no longer throwing. The furious exchange has ended. Now it’s only Ryoma pressing forward, relentless.

Takashiro can only watch. Every thud of Ryoma’s glove makes his stomach tighten. He just hopes Ayano survives until the bell, though that hope shrinks with every clean hit.

“Coach, do something!” Suda blurts, voice trembling.

“There’s nothing to do now,” Takashiro says grimly. “If only he’d used his left and his footwork earlier, he could’ve bought space, recovered, fought on equal ground.”

Then, out of nowhere…

DSH!

Ayano fires a short left hook that lands flush, snapping Ryoma’s head sideways, breaking his rhythm.

He throws another, then another, but his legs betray him. His punches lose their form, his body swaying, exhausted.

Ryoma slips the next swing easily, steps back, and wipes a streak of blood from his mouth. He glances at the timer in his Vision Grid: less than forty seconds left.

“I need to finish it.”

He tightens his right hand and steps in again, jabbing sharp and fast. Ayano answers, but his own jabs are weakened, predictable, and slow.

Ryoma pivots low and drives a straight left into the solar plexus.

BUG!

Air rushes from Ayano’s lungs.

Before he can recover, Ryoma crashes in with a brutal right cross to the face.

Ayano barely manages to raise his guard…

BAM!

…perfect block.

But even blocking hurts now. The impact shakes through his trembling arms and legs. And he still can’t breathe after that body shot.

His hands are too heavy, his lungs on fire. All he can do now is cover up and pray for the bell. But even that guard is loose.

Just when he’s finally fighting the way Takashiro taught him, when he sees it working, it’s already too late.

What is left now is regret, and a quiet kind of self-resentment.

“Damn it… I should’ve listened…”

Ryoma rips through his defense with two stiff jabs, and then follows with two hooks from both sides.

The crowd erupts as Ayano’s head snaps left and right.

His gloves finally drop. As his body wavers, Ryoma ends it with a savage right hook from above.

WHAM!!!

Ayano finally crumples, hitting the canvas hard.

“Down goes Ayano!” a commentator shouts. “Less than ten seconds before the bell, and Ryoma floors him again!”

“That’s a monster shot!” another cries. “The timing, the precision… that’s MVP-level execution!”

The referee steps in, waving Ryoma to the neutral corner. Ryoma obeys, panting hard, eyes sharp but heavy with fatigue.

In the red corner, Takashiro and his team don’t move. No one calls for Ayano to rise. No towel flies.

Only seven seconds remain. Surrendering now would rob Ayano of the little dignity he has left.

“This is a lesson he needed,” Takashiro mutters. “If it wasn’t Ryoma giving it to him, some veteran would’ve done it soon enough.”

The referee kneels beside Ayano, checks him, and starts the count.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

“Four!”

Ryoma exhales, staring at the motionless fighter, hoping it’s over.

“If he gets up again…” he mutters.

>

The count finally ends. The referee checks Ayano one last time before waving his arms.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

It’s over.

The arena erupts. Their hero has done it again, another knockout, another spectacle.

“And there it is!” a commentator shouts over the roar. “A picture-perfect finish from the Cruel King, Ryoma Takeda!”

“Ayano showed heart, but Ryoma showed mastery. Pure control, pure discipline, and terrifying timing!”

“He didn’t just win. He defined domination through fundamentals!”

Banners ripple across the stands, ’RYOMA THE CRUEL KING

’, as drums pound and the chant builds:

RYO-MA! RYO-MA! RYO-MA!

The crowd surges with each echo, their cheers crashing like waves.

***

Takashiro’s team gathers around Ayano, murmuring his name as if calling him back from somewhere far away.

Across the ring, Nakahara’s team storms the neutral corner. Ryoma, still bathed in the roar, raises his glove toward the stands.

Then Kenta lifts him, grinning, shouting “Banzai! Banzai!”

The chant catches fire, spreading through the crowd.

Then Ryoma turns, and his gaze lands on Ayano, slumped, cradled by his team.

>

Ryoma’s brows twitch. He never liked the idea, never liked Ayano. But his smirk falters at how calculated the thought sounds.

He taps Kenta’s shoulder to be set down. The cheers dip as he steps toward the red corner, lowering his head in what looks like respect.

But it isn’t for Ayano. Not for Takashiro, or the fight. He knows what the cameras see: the fallen rival and the humble victor. The image that makes headlines.

He reaches out his hand, not from empathy, but from calculation.

“You gave me a good round,” Ryoma says, smiling faintly.

Ayano, half-conscious, still hears it. He’s gained some respect for Ryoma through the fight, but those words sound like a veiled boast.

He scowls and knocks Ryoma’s hand away. And Ryoma’s face twists, eyes flaring with sudden anger.

“You arrogant bastard!” he snaps, cocking a fist.

But Kenta lunges first, grabbing both his arms. “Hey, stop! Enough already!”

“Come here, you asshole!” Ryoma shouts, struggling. “I showed you respect and…”

“Stop being a child,” Kenta cuts him off, covering his mouth, dragging him back. “Look at the crowd. You’re giving them a bad example.”

The crowd, of course, loves it. They laugh and actually cheer louder.

Takashiro’s team lifts Ayano out of the ring. No one claps for him now. Even some of his own fans turn, joining the chant for Ryoma instead.

“Beat him, Ryoma!”

“Don’t let that arrogant bastard live!”

“Hey, hey… if he actually kills him, that’d be trouble.”

“We don’t care!”

“Just retire, Ayano! We’re done watching you!”

“Yeah… no respect at all!”

“Your corner might still stand by you, but we won’t. You’ve already lost ours.”

It’s brutal. But the sting cuts deeper when Ayano notices the shirts and towels, still printed with his name, on the very people shouting for his end.

***

Once Ayano disappears, the ring finally settles. The roar lingers as a female official approaches Ryoma. She bows slightly and holds the mic with both hands.

“Um… Ryoma-kun, could you please share a few words for your fans?”

Ryoma takes the mic without meeting her eyes.

“Thank you, everyone,” he says, calm and practiced. “You’ve been incredible all this time. I wouldn’t have come this far without your support. As for the All-Japan Rookie Final… I apologize for not living up to your expectations.”

A voice shouts from the stands: “Never mind that!”

Another joins: “You proved yourself tonight, Ryoma! We’ve always believed in you!”

The crowd swells again, the cheer rolling back over him like surf.

Ryoma feels it, really feels it. It can’t be compared to the night he won that lucky bet, the night before he got shot. This feeling is real.

But then…

“Go for the title next!” someone yells.

“Yeah! Renji’s run away… now the title’s vacant! Aim for it!”

Ryoma’s smile wavers. He does have the ambition, but a title shot next? It’s not that simple.

At ringside, reporters Tanaka and Sato laugh.

“Title fight? Bit early for that,” Tanaka says.

“Three more bouts,” Sato grins. “Maybe two, if the stars align.”

Somewhere in the front row, Logan Rhodes gives a slow nod and a measured clap as Ryoma leaves the ring. The crowd’s still chanting his name.

RYO-MA! RYO-MA! RYO-MA! RYO-MA!

“With this kind of support,” Logan says, still clapping, “maybe he can challenge for the title soon.”

Reika hears it, and a quiet smile crosses her face.

But farther back, there’s Sekino Yashinobu, the veteran from Minato Bayside Gym, watching in silence.

A gym mate nudges him. “So, you really moving up to lightweight? Just to fight that guy?”

Sekino doesn’t answer at first. His gaze stays locked on Ryoma, still basking in the light.

“Someone has to teach that kid…” he says finally, “what respect truly means.”

He still hasn’t forgotten what Ryoma did to Kanzaki.

He believes Ryoma will secure his A-license after this, which means he can finally issue the challenge.

All he needs now is to move up to lightweight, and get ready.