VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

As Nakahara’s group begins to gather their things, one of the JBC officials calls from the table, clipboard in hand.

“Coach Nakahara, please return in an hour for the press conference,” he says politely.

Nakahara blinks. “Press conference?” he repeats under his breath, almost to himself.

He hadn’t heard anything about it, no notice, no preparation. His brow furrows slightly as he turns to confirm, but the official has already moved on.

Just then, the Minato camp strides past. Yuichi Sōda walks in front, posture firm, expression calm as always.

“The marketing went better than expected,” he says as he passes, not even looking back. “Public interest is high, so we decided to hold a press conference. It’ll help everyone.”

Nakahara frowns. “At least, you could’ve given me some notice. Courtesy doesn’t cost anything.”

Sōda waves a hand dismissively, the picture of composure. “It’s just a press conference, Nakahara-san. A daily menu in this sport.”

He keeps walking without missing a step.

Tsuchida follows after, pausing briefly beside Nakahara with a grin that’s almost friendly. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’ve got stage fright.”

The tone is light, but the jab lands sharp. Nakahara’s expression tightens; his lips press into a thin line. But he doesn’t answer.

Tsuchida smirks and continues after Yuichi Sōda.

Then come Tsutomu and Kobo, their matching tracksuits loud as their voices.

“The old man’s afraid of the crowd,” Tsutomu snickers. “Guess he’s not even ready for a press conference.”

Kobo laughs. “And these guys talk about winning a world title belt. What a comedy show.”

Their voices fade as they walk away, still chuckling.

The Nakahara camp stands in silence for a few beats, the air heavy with quiet resentment.

Ryohei exhales sharply through his nose, muttering something under his breath. Hiroshi looks like he’s about to say something, but Nakahara raises a hand to stop him.

And Ryoma, standing slightly apart, breaks the silence with a small smile. “Well… isn’t that great? They’re already setting up the stage for my rise.”

His tone is calm, almost amused. He turns and walks toward the exit first.

But as the others follow, no one sees his face anymore, how that faint smile fades away, replaced by a hard cold expression, eyes narrowing with something sharper than anger.

***

An hour later, after rehydrating and changing into clean gym shirts, the Nakahara camp returns for the press conference, intentionally a few minutes late.

The moment Ryoma and Nakahara enter, flashes explode in every direction. The blitz of white light turns their entrance into something far grander than it should be.

For a moment, it almost feels like a title event, loud, dazzling, and staged for the spectacle rather than the sport.

“Man…” Ryohei mutters under his breath, glancing at the sea of cameras. “Feels like we’re about to challenge a world champ or something.”

Hiroshi smirks beside him. “It has nothing to do with them. That’s just how much pull Ryoma’s name has now.”

The front wall is plastered with sponsor banners, logos of local gyms, sports apparel brands, and one particularly drink company, Pocar! Swe4t, whose bottled drink gleams neatly on the table in front of each fighter.

Reporters pack the front rows, tripods jutting like spears, the smell of coffee and cheap cologne thick in the air.

Ryoma squints against the glare, then exhales a quiet chuckle. “Not bad,” he mutters under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He walks in with a careless stride, hands buried in his pockets. But across the stage, Minato’s camp is already seated. Yuichi Sōda and Tsuchida Inejiro’s expression is cold as stone, while Sekino sits beside them, jaw tight, fingers tapping against his knee after waiting too long.

Only Ryoma and Nakahara take seats at the table. The rest of Nakahara’s gym; Hiroshi, Sera, and Ryohei, settle a bit away, quiet under the heat of the lights.

The host steps forward, microphone in hand, greeting the crowd and announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the official press conference for the Ryoma Takeda versus Yasinobu Sekino match, scheduled this Saturday night at Korakuen Hall.”

The press conference begins with the usual pleasantries; flashes, greetings, and the clicking storm of cameras.

Reporters shout overlapping questions until the host raises a hand for order. The first questions are mild, routine queries about preparation, weight cuts, and confidence.

Ryoma answers in short, casual tones, resting an arm over his chair. Sekino’s replies are sharper, clipped, with the tone of someone just tolerating the ritual.

But it doesn’t take long for the air to shift. A reporter from FightView Weekly leans forward, voice loud enough to pierce the peaceful mood.

“Coach Nakahara,” he begins. “Minato Bayside Gym has been one of the most active promoters in Tokyo lately, while your gym’s been… well, quieter than usual. The last time you hosted a fight event yourself was when Shimamura Suzuki was still under your gym, correct?”

The click of shutters fills the brief pause that follows. Nakahara doesn’t move, his hands folded on the table, the glint of fluorescent light reflecting off the bottled sponsor drink between them.

The reporter presses on. “He’s ranked 4th in Super Featherweight now, under Hoshikawa Promotions. Something he hadn’t achieved back when he was training with you. Some say your decline started the moment he left, and that this fight only exists because you needed Bayside’s stage to stay relevant. What’s your response to that?”

Nakahara hesitates, his humble smile stiffening. Before he can answer, another reporter from the back joins in, adding oil to the flame.

“There are rumors that Minato’s side even helped arrange your undercard fights. Is that true?”

Yuichi Sōda, calm as ever, leans toward his mic with a polite smile. “We believe in supporting the sport as a whole. Sometimes, giving opportunities to smaller gyms helps everyone.”

A few chuckles ripple through the room. The intent is clear. Yuichi Sōda’s only giving a lips service here. They’ve heard his harsh words before this.

Ryohei shifts in his seat, jaw tight. Hiroshi mutters something low, half a curse. And Ryoma, still quiet, rests his fingers on the mic, smiling faintly.

“That’s one way to put it,” he finally speaks. “But let’s not forget the history between our gyms. Some of us still remember who came knocking at whose door first.”

The reporters react instantly, cameras flashing faster. The tension tightens, the faint crackle of a storm ready to break.

Sōda’s smile stays fixed, but his eyes narrow ever so slightly. Sekino shifts beside him, arms crossed, jaw flexing.

One of the reporters, sensing blood, jumps in. “You’re referring to what happened during the Rookie Tournament, right? The feud between your gym and Minato Bayside?”

Ryoma gives a small shrug. “Feud’s a big word. Let’s just say… some people have short memories.”

Tsuchida Inejiro leans into his mic, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And some people forget their manners. You humiliated Kanzaki when you could’ve ended the fight. That’s not boxing. That’s cruelty. And using cruelty to build your reputation… that’s worse.”

Ryoma’s smile doesn’t falter. “Cruelty?” he echoes softly. “You mean the same kind that sends high-school kids to another gym just to spy? Sure… the fans started calling me the Cruel King since that night. I built my reputation by forcing your weak-willed Kanzaki into retirement. And now you use that same reputation to sell tickets and call it pride? What a bunch of hypocrites.”

Tsuchida’s composure shatters. His palm slams against the table with a sharp crack that startles the front row.

“Watch your damn mouth, kid!” he roars, jabbing a finger toward Ryoma.

Flashes explode from every corner. Reporters rise from their seats, cameras clicking like machine guns as the scene freezes in bursts of white light.

And somewhere amid the chaos, Sekino’s eyes narrow, not in surprise, but in recognition.

The early stage of Ryoma’s provocation has worked.