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VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Chapter 200: Heavy Hands, Heavy Hearth · Nov 03, 2026

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Chapter List (1045)

Page number / 21

151 Chapter 151: When the Cheers Fade 2026-11-03
152 Chapter 152: When Hope Turned Off Its Light 2026-11-03
153 Chapter 153: Possession 2026-11-03
154 Chapter 154: Moving On, Moving Up 2026-11-03
155 Chapter 155: The Choice That Stirs Boxing Communities 2026-11-03
156 Chapter 156: Running Away Now? 2026-11-03
157 Chapter 157: The Struggle of Four Kilos Heavier 2026-11-03
158 Chapter 158: A New Rhythm, New Member 2026-11-03
159 Chapter 159: Observer in the Mezzanine 2026-11-03
160 Chapter 160: The Monster Waiting Ahead 2026-11-03
161 Chapter 161: Twin Card: A-License Promotion 2026-11-03
162 Chapter 162: Feeding the Lions 2026-11-03
163 Chapter 163: Checkmate 2026-11-03
164 Chapter 164: Four Weeks to Ota 2026-11-03
165 Chapter 165: Work For the Next Level 2026-11-03
166 Chapter 166: Selling the Fight 2026-11-03
167 Chapter 167: The Coldest Hour 2026-11-03
168 Chapter 168: Fire Beneath the Fever 2026-11-03
169 Chapter 169: Setting An Ice Cube on Fire 2026-11-03
170 Chapter 170: The Last Cut Before the Fight 2026-11-03
171 Chapter 171: Unshaken 2026-11-03
172 Chapter 172: Here To Fight 2026-11-03
173 Chapter 173: Loop Sequence 2026-11-03
174 Chapter 174: A Bet Between Men 2026-11-03
175 Chapter 175: Where Rhythm Breaks 2026-11-03
176 Chapter 176: Half A Beat Too Soon 2026-11-03
177 Chapter 177: Timing and Consequence 2026-11-03
178 Chapter 178: Where Pride Breaks 2026-11-03
179 Chapter 179: Men Built from Punishment 2026-11-03
180 Chapter 180: Cracks Beneath the Guard 2026-11-03
181 Chapter 181: Hands That Save, Hands That Steal 2026-11-03
182 Chapter 182: Risk and Reward 2026-11-03
183 Chapter 183: Main Event: Reckoning 2026-11-03
184 Chapter 184: The Fear in the Gap 2026-11-03
185 Chapter 185: The Edge Between Confidence and Fear 2026-11-03
186 Chapter 186: No Fear in the Ring 2026-11-03
187 Chapter 187: The False Script 2026-11-03
188 Chapter 188: Humility Vs Ego 2026-11-03
189 Chapter 189: Echoes of the Old Self 2026-11-03
190 Chapter 190: When Pride Falls 2026-11-03
191 Chapter 191: Lacks of Respect 2026-11-03
192 Chapter 192: The Fever of Victory 2026-11-03
193 Chapter 193: New Wave, A New Future 2026-11-03
194 Chapter 194: Logan Rhodes Steps In 2026-11-03
195 Chapter 195: The First Wall 2026-11-03
196 Chapter 196: Scouting the Field 2026-11-03
197 Chapter 197: The Art of the Slow Kill 2026-11-03
198 Chapter 198: Rhythm Broken 2026-11-03
199 Chapter 199: Elliot Graves Arrives 2026-11-03
200 Chapter 200: Heavy Hands, Heavy Hearth 2026-11-03

The same day, the same noon.

The air inside Kirizume Boxing Gym is heavy with sound, the rhythmic slap of jump ropes, and the smack of gloves against pads.

In the ring, Renji Kuroiwa moves like a storm in rhythm.

His build now is deceptive, solid, a bit soft around the waist, but heavy with power. Each motion has density, every jab, every step, sounds heavier than it looks.

Across from him stands Morine Mizusaki, ranked 10th in the lightweight division, a sharp compact puncher with quick feet and a solid chin.

The bell for second round of spar rings, and Renji advances, glove raised high, chin tucked behind his shoulder.

And it begins, his flicker jabs.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

A triple jab comes from that odd loose shoulder roll stance. But unlike the flickers of a pure outboxer, Renji’s jabs have weight behind them.

They don’t just touch; they snap, each jab landing like a hammer in disguise.

Mizusaki tries to step around, throwing a right over Renji’s shoulder guard. But Renji leans with it, absorbing, turning the punch off-line.

His counter isn’t a sharp hook. It is a forward shove of a jab, then a step inside before a strong straight.

“Push him back, Renji!” Kirizume barks, arms crossed beside the ring. “Make him feel you!”

Renji follows the instruction. He doesn’t dance. He just presses with pressure.

This is his rhythm, not reactive, not waiting. His Philly Shell doesn’t roll to avoid pressure. He rolls through it.

His stance isn’t the narrow sideways line of a counterpuncher. He faces forward, weight over the front foot, ready to fire.

From there, his right hand isn’t a reaction. It’s pressure in motion.

DUG! DUG! DUG!

Body shots digs in like shovels. Mizusaki’s guard folded in, legs shifting to stay upright.

Renji follows with a jab, then another, that flicker again, but faster this time, five in a row, each one thudding against glove or skin.

“Fight back,” Mizusaski’s second calls out. “Don’t just stand there. Throw something.”

Mizusaki burst forward in retaliation, right hook, left uppercut.

Renji rolls the first, caught the second on his forearm, then snaps up with a sharp short right.

It isn’t clean, but the sound is ugly, his glove only hits the headgear, but sweat spraying under the gym light.

Ding!

The bell saves Mizusaki.

Renji exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders loose. He turns and walks to his corner, sitting down as Kirizume hands him a towel.

“You look good,” Kirizume says. “Don’t get cute with the rolls. Keep walking him down. He’s fast, but he’s breaking.”

Renji nods once, water bottle pressed to his lips. Then he spits into the bucket.

But the next round never starts. Mizusaki’s trainer steps up onto the apron and waves a hand.

“Guess that’s enough for today, Kirizume,” he calls out. “We’ve got a fight coming up. I’m not risking my guy.”

Coach Kirizume doesn’t argue. He knows Renji’s in his best condition lately. One more round against a heavy hitter like him, and Mizusaki might’ve walked out bruised enough to cancel his own bout.

***

Just today alone, Renji’s run through three sparring partners, all outsiders brought in by the gym. He’s still not satisfied, but he can’t press it further.

It’s not about racking up rounds anymore. It’s the anxiety, the tension of his first international fight.

Kirizume has brought him plenty of boxers to mimic different styles, but none of them fight like Elliot Graves.

Now Renji turns to the heavy bag instead. The anxiety bleeds out through his fists…

THUD!

THUD! THUD! THUD!

THUD! THUD! BAM! THUD!

The sound alone kills the chatter. One by one, the other boxers stop what they’re doing, eyes drawn toward him.

Even Serrano, the arrogant kid who’s kept pestering for a spar with Renji, now realizes how foolish that idea was.

In these past months, he’s been learning what real boxing discipline feels like. He’s no longer the reckless kid who thought he could humiliate everyone just because of his genetics.

Now he knows better. He understands just how wide the gulf still is between him and Renji Kuroiwa.

***

After a few more minutes of hammering the heavy bag, Renji finally stops. His arms ache, sweat dripping from his chin, but the pressure in his chest won’t fade.

The rhythm in his fists might’ve burned through his strength, but not his anxiety.

He exhales, long and slow, and unstraps his gloves.

Then footsteps approach from behind.

“Done already?”

Renji turns, finding Kirizume standing a few paces away.

“I just got a call,” Kirizume says. “Elliot Graves has just landed in Tokyo.”

Renji blinks. “Already? The fight’s still two weeks out.”

Kirizume shrugs lightly. “Guess they wanted extra time to get used to the time difference… or maybe to scout around.”

Renji frowns, grabbing a towel and wiping his face. “That early, huh. Confident bunch.”

“Or maybe nervous,” Kirizume says, his tone mild, but his eyes sharp. “Could be they’re the ones feeling the pressure. You’re not exactly an easy fight to walk into blind.”

Renji lets out a short laugh. “You think that’s it?”

Kirizume nods once. “Every fighter wants an edge before a big fight. If they came early, maybe it’s because they’re not as sure about this one as people think.”

The words hang there for a moment, almost casual, but Renji feels the subtle push behind them. Then he gives a small nod, as if to say he understands.

But when Kirizume turns away, Renji catches the faint reflection of himself in the mirror across the room, jaw tight, shoulders tense.

Even with those words, the anxiety doesn’t disappear. It just shifts, simmering somewhere deeper.

***

Without a word, Renji grabs his gym bag and walks toward the locker room. Not to shower, not to rest, just to be alone.

He sinks onto the bench, pulls out his phone, and opens a video, highlights of Elliot Graves’ previous fights.

Elliot’s movements are smooth, unnaturally smooth. There’s a rhythm to him, like jazz. The way he shifts his weight, the way his head and shoulders roll, looks fluid, elegant, unpredictable.

Every feint, every pivot feels effortless, like he’s dancing on air.

But then, when he lets the right hand go…

BAM!

The rhythm breaks. The soft jazz turns into hard metal, sharp, violent, and sudden. The snap of that punch carries the sound of something solid.

Renji rewinds, watches it again. And again.

It’s not the speed that bothers him. It’s the control. The way Elliot’s tempo changes right before impact, from smooth to sharp, from slow to explosive, like a trapdoor snapping shut.

Renji sits there, staring at the screen, his reflection faintly visible over the replaying footage.

He’s had so many fights. Too many, maybe, and never lost once.

But somewhere along the way, the thrill faded. His last few opponents had fallen too easily, and each time his hand was raised, the victory felt lighter than before.

The only time he’d actually felt something was during that spar with Ryoma.

He’s still thinking about those few seconds when his vision went black, body frozen upright, mind flickering out while still on his feet.

That moment has been stuck under his skin ever since.

Could it be that all those easy wins… actually made me soft?

He hates even thinking about it, but the doubt clings stubbornly. The same thought he never says out loud, not even to Kirizume.

It’s the reason why he stubbornly asked Kirizume to set up an official match with Ryoma, a real one, not just sparring.

Because deep down, he knew Ryoma was the only one who’d ever made him question if he was truly as good as the belt said he was.

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