VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

A month before the fight, Ryoma has settled into his new weight. The scale holds steady back at 64 kilograms, and this time, it doesn’t feel like a fight to stay there.

The pendulum-step drills Sera gave have paid off. The sway in his rhythm, the way his weight shifts without hesitation, it’s all back. It looks smooth, controlled, and efficient.

From the corner of the gym, you’d barely notice he’s heavier now. The frame is broader, the muscles sharper, but his movements still look effortless.

Except for the sound.

Bag, bag, bag, PAM!

Each combination still lands heavier, the pop of the leather turning into a crack.

Nakahara catches the last hook cleanly on the mitt, his stance rooted, eyes never leaving Ryoma. He doesn’t praise him yet, just a slow exhale through his nose.

“You’re forcing it,” he says.

Ryoma’s breathing steadies. “Felt good, though.”

“Good isn’t efficient.” Nakahara raises the mitts again. “You’re building too much before you throw.”

He taps Ryoma’s chest, then stomping on the floor. “You’ve got the weight now. Don’t just push it forward.”

He mimics the motion, demonstrating a compact fluid twist, his front foot sinking just an inch, fist driving through the air with no wasted motion.

“The power’s already there,” Nakahara says quietly. “You just need to let it fall as you bend. Keep the shift smooth before you coil back to throw, that way you don’t lose momentum. And don’t hold too long when you drop your knees.”

Ryoma nods, resets his stance, eyes narrowing.

He breathes once, dips his shoulder…

WHAM!

The sound is the same, but the rhythm isn’t. The dip, the rise, it all happens tighter and smoother, no wasted motion between the descent and the release.

Even Nakahara can’t hide the flicker of approval in his eyes.

“That,” he says, lowering his hand, “is a boxer’s punch.”

“But if I need more power,” Ryoma says, “I’ll still need to take more time in the build-up, right?”

Nakahara waits a beat, then nods, “Of course, if you want to put more weight behind it, you’ll have to bend deeper, coil longer, spend a little more time on the build-up.”

He studies Ryoma for a moment, the look of a man placing his trust in someone who’s grown enough to decide for himself.

“Just remember the cost,” he says. “Every extra second you spend loading up, you shift your timing. You give your opponent a chance to read you. Different punch for different purpose. Different situation.”

He lowers the mitt and lets out a small breath, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“But I’d say the current you can already tell when to load a punch.”

The mitt session continues, with Nakahara offering small corrections here and there.

It’s not that his trust in Ryoma has wavered. He knows the kid’s boxing IQ, his insight and ring sense already surpass those of his peers.

Now, he’s just trying to make Ryoma’s body understand what his mind already knows.

And for that, he doesn’t let a single imperfection slip by.

***

Three days later.

Nakahara finally gets the call from JBC. Now he’s in his office, receiver in hand, a trace of hope written across his face.

“Yeah… right. I get it.”

A pause.

“Alright. May 27th, understood.”

He ends the call, and pushes himself out of the chair, already striding out of the office.

“Okabe,” he calls. “I’ve secured a promotional fight for you.”

Okabe freezes mid-swing. His shoulders stiffen, and he turns slowly, disbelief flashing across his face. Then, as the words sink in, the tension breaks into a grin, wide and trembling.

“Against a rookie,” Nakahara continues. “Hara Tanjiro from…”

Okabe barely hears the name. He just lets out a sharp yell, half laugh, half roar, the kind that spills out before he can think.

Then he straightens, bowing slightly.

“Thank you, Coach,” he says, voice tight. “Really. Thank you.”

The noise catches the room’s attention. A few boxers glance over, pausing mid-drill. Everyone except Ryoma, who’s still focused on his pendulum-step drills with Sera.

Despite the good news, Nakahara doesn’t let himself get pulled into Okabe’s excitement.

“You’ve got two weeks,” he says flatly. “Good thing you don’t need to cut weight. Just focus on getting your instincts sharp again. More sparring from now on.”

Okabe nods immediately. “Whatever it takes,” he says. “I’ll do everything to get that A-license.”

Nakahara stays silent for a moment, watching him, before his gaze drifts toward Ryoma.

He thinks for a moment, waits until Ryoma takes a break, then claps Okabe lightly on the shoulder.

“Go back to it,” he says. “Punch that bag to your hear content.”

“On it,” Okabe beams, and resets his drill.

Nakahara crosses the floor toward Ryoma and Sera, and waits for a moment until Ryoma’s breathing slows.

“Kid! I’m putting Okabe into more sparring,” Nakahara says. “Help him get ready. Don’t just fight him, guide him like you did with Aramaki. Correct him if you see something wrong.”

Ryoma blinks once. “Okabe? Did you have a fight for him?”

“Yeah, a promotional fight held by JBC,” Nakahara says.

Ryoma turns toward Okabe and raises his voice. “Hey, congrats, Okabe!”

Okabe pauses mid-combination, flashing a grin over his shoulder. “Thanks! I’ll catch up to you soon!”

Then he turns back to the sandbag.

Nakahara lingers, as if something else is still on his mind. He looks like he wants to say it, but hesitates.

“Anything else, Coach?” Ryoma asks.

“Regarding your preparation for Sekino…” he says. “I’ve done my best to find suitable sparring partners, but they’ve all declined. So, we’ll have to handle it in-house.”

“It’s okay, Coach,” Ryoma waves if off. “I’ll be just fine. Really.”

“Well, you’ll still be sparring with Kenta then. But… maybe with Ryohei too.”

Ryoma squints. “First Okabe, and now Ryohei. The same schedule?”

“Almost.” Nakahara folds his arms. “I’m adding a bit more work. I hope you can stay a bit longer this time.”

And that’s when Ryoma realizes why Nakahara has been so careful bringing it up. He’s always made a habit of heading home early, to keep his mom from being alone for too long.

“Coach,” Ryoma says quietly, “if you’re worrying about my mom, she’s fine. The barbershop’s just two blocks away.”

“Ah, ha…” Nakahara lets out a small, awkward chuckle. “That’s good to hear.”

Then his expression straightens again.

“Alright, get ready. You’ll spar with Okabe first. Don’t finish it too fast. Make those four rounds count for him.”

“I get it,” Ryoma says, pulling off his sweater and shirt. His core looks even more defined than usual. “Though, I’m not sure I can last twelve rounds.”

***

And so, Ryoma’s long sparring session begins, unaware that Nakahara has a deeper purpose behind it.

First he’s paired with Okabe, this time under Instruction Mode, a feature the system introduced months ago when he helped Aramaki.

Unlike its usual combat-assist, this mode doesn’t highlight openings for Ryoma to exploit or map opponent habits. Instead, it analyzes potential, scanning for what can still be developed, built, or refined within a limited window.

After a few sharp exchanges, the familiar grid flickers before his eyes.

***

[System Scan Update]

Lower build not yet at maximum potential.

Power–endurance–speed ratio unbalanced; improvement possible within two weeks.

Forearms: dense, rigid structure. Effective for impact absorption and jab disruption.

→ Suggested focus: forearm-based counter disruption.

***

Ryoma weaves away from Okabe’s next hook. He flicks a few light jabs, testing rhythm, then speaks between motions.

“Don’t always tighten your guard. Bring your arms forward sometimes. Try to disrupt my punches before they build momentum.”

Okabe has seen this before, how Ryoma guided Aramaki during sparring, and how much it changed the man’s game afterward.

So he doesn’t question it. For a moment, he even forgets that Ryoma’s technically his junior.

“Alright,” he says, adjusting his stance and bringing his gloves a little forward. “I’ll try.”