VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

“When a hobby turns into a sport, it becomes a passion. When a sport turns into an industry, it becomes a machine. And the machine always knows how to keep the money flowing, the gears spinning, and the hype alive.”

Before the buzz from Renji’s international fight even fades, Minato Bayside Gym makes its next move. They officially announce that their veteran boxer, Sekino Yasinobu, a long-time Japanese title contender at Super Featherweight, is moving up to the Lightweight division.

Almost at the same time, the JBC updates its rankings, Sekino now sits at number ten among Lightweights.

It doesn’t take long for Tokyo’s boxing journalists and die-hard fans to read between the lines. The timing says everything. Because alongside the ranking update comes another announcement:

Sekino Yasinobu vs. Ryoma Takeda, scheduled for June 4th, 2016, at Korakuen Hall.

“Is Minato Bayside sending a message?” one sports headline reads.

“Sekino’s Sudden Jump to Lightweight Stirs Old Rivalry With Nakahara Gym,” another blog headlines boldly.

Those who still remember what Ryoma Takeda did to Toru Kanzaki last year already know where this is heading.

They remember how Ryoma humiliated Kanzaki, dragging the fight out when he could’ve ended it, breaking the man’s pride in front of a roaring crowd. They remember Kanzaki’s premature retirement, and the disappearance that followed.

“Kanzaki’s downfall: the night pride died at Korakuen Hall,” another old article resurfaces on social media, shared with bitter comments and nostalgic outrage.

Ever since that night, a silent cold war has lingered between Minato Bayside Gym and Nakahara Boxing Gym, a quiet feud waiting for the right spark.

And now, as Ryoma Takeda finally secures his A-License, Minato Bayside Gym sees their moment. They sent a challenge, or maybe, a statement.

“Minato declares war?” one columnist writes. “If this fight happens, it’s more than a match—it’s history settling its score.”

And just like that, the war officially begins.

***

Just a day after Minato Bayside Gym makes their announcement, the journalists are already swarming the place. Cameras crowd the entrance, reporters shove their mics forward, and the humid air inside the gym feels heavier than ever.

They want answers.

They want soundbites.

They want fire.

“Coach Sōda! What’s the real reason behind Sekino’s move up to Lightweight?” one reporter shouts over the noise.

“Is this a response to Ryoma Takeda’s A-License approval?” another pushes in, recording every twitch of Sōda’s face.

Some are smiling as they ask, knowing exactly what they’re doing. The rivalry sells, and they’re here to feed it.

Yuichi Sōda stands there with arms folded, expression carved from stone. When he finally speaks, his tone cuts through the room like a left hook.

“We’re not moving up for attention,” he says flatly. “We’re moving up because Lightweight’s where the real fights are. And we don’t duck anyone.”

“But, Sir! Why Ryoma Takeda?” one reporter presses.

“He just got his A-License,” another adds. “No ranking, no title contention!”

“Sekino’s a top contender! What’s in it for you, challenging an unranked fighter?”

Some grin behind their cameras, already hearing the clicks their headlines will get.

“Is Minato Bayside trying to ride on Ryoma’s popularity after his recent buzz and oversea popularity in social media?”

Yuichi Sōda looks like a man who’s had enough of hearing the same questions, but he’s not backing away.

“We’re not chasing hype,” he says. “Sekino doesn’t need Ryoma’s name to sell a fight.”

A few reporters chuckle, pens tapping. One pushes in closer.

“Then what’s this about, Coach? Revenge? Kanzaki’s loss still bothering you?”

Sōda’s jaw tightens. His tone hardens. “What Ryoma did to Kanzaki wasn’t boxing. It was cruelty dressed as skill. And if Nakahara thinks that’s something to be proud of, maybe he should stop calling himself a coach.”

Gasps ripple through the room. Microphones tilt closer. The press gets what it came for, blood.

“So this is personal?”

“You’re blaming Coach Nakahara for Kanzaki’s career ending?”

Sōda exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, but bitter. “Personal? No. This is professional. It’s about respect for the sport. Something that side of town clearly forgot.”

The flashbulbs go off again, rapid and blinding. Reporters already whisper their leads into recorders.

“Sōda Slams Nakahara: ’They Forgot What Respect Means.’”

“Coach Calls Ryoma’s Style Cruelty, Not Boxing.”

“Minato Bayside Denies Chasing Hype… ’We Don’t Need Ryoma’s Name.’”

By the time the press clears out, the air inside the gym feels heavier than before. What was once rumor and speculation is now war declared in print.

***

By the time the last reporter packs up and the gym doors close, the place finally exhales. That’s when Sekino steps closer to the gym. Or maybe he’s been there all along, waiting somewhere out of sight until the noise died down.

His gray sweater is soaked through, clinging to his back after a long punishing roadwork. So of course, the journalists are the last thing he wants to deal with.

He walks in without a word, his shoes leaving faint marks on the floor mats, and heads straight for the bench.

“Yo, Sekino-senpai!” Tsutomu calls out, half-grinning, half in awe. “You should’ve seen this place earlier! Reporters everywhere! Cameras flashing, Coach yelling. It was crazy!”

Kobo chimes in before Sekino can even nod. “Yeah, Coach Sōda went off! Said Ryoma ain’t a real fighter! You should’ve heard him, the press went nuts!”

Tsutomu laughs, throwing a few mock punches in the air. “Feels good, huh? Finally, everyone’s talking about Minato Bayside again!”

Sekino doesn’t answer. He just sits down on the bench, unwraps the old towel from around his neck, and starts taping his hands, tight, layer by layer.

The two kouhai keep talking, words spilling over each other like kids at a festival. They don’t notice the way Sekino’s eyes stay fixed on his hands, or how his breath steadies with each pull of the tape.

“Coach Sōda even attacked our enemy’s coach, that old stupid Nakahara,” Kobo says.

“You think they’ll take the bait?” Tsutomu adds eagerly.

Sekino finishes the last wrap, flexes his fingers, and slides on his gloves without looking at them.

Then, without a word, he stands and walks to the sandbag. The sound of his first punch echoes through the gym, a heavy, meaty thud that swallows the last traces of conversation.

Another punch follows. And then another.

BUG!

Dug, dug… BUG!

Each strike is heavier than before, his shoulders rolling with new weight, his core tighter, his rhythm controlled. The bag swings wider with each hit, the chain rattling above like metal teeth.

He’s not just maintaining form anymore. He’s building power, adjusting to a body that’s growing into a new division. Each blow sounds like he’s hammering his doubts into silence.

Tsutomu and Kobo stop talking. They just watch.

Meanwhile, Yuichi Sōda is inside his office with his two assistant coaches; Tsuchida Inejiro, the man who handled Kanzaki last year, and Mita Shiki, younger, a former Japan featherweight champion from 2008 to 2010, who retired two years ago.

The three sit in front of the monitor. On screen: Ryoma’s fight against Ayano.

They’ve studied him countless times before, yet here they are again, replaying, pausing, rewinding. But they never feel it’s enough.

No matter how many times they watch, the kid’s rhythm stays unreadable, the holes too well hidden.

They hunt for flaws, only to be impressed, again and again, by the sheer smoothness of Ryoma’s craft.

“Heard he went toe-to-toe with Elliot Graves,” Sōda mutters. “Figured it was just talk to boost his name. But damn… kid’s the real deal.”