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VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Chapter 246: A Lullaby in Round Six · Nov 03, 2026

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Chapter List (1045)

Page number / 21

201 Chapter 201: New Blood, Old Habits 2026-11-03
202 Chapter 202: Welcome to Narisawa Boxing Gym 2026-11-03
203 Chapter 203: Declining the Champion 2026-11-03
204 Chapter 204: Caught in the Beat 2026-11-03
205 Chapter 205: A Worthy Distance 2026-11-03
206 Chapter 206: Reading Deeper 2026-11-03
207 Chapter 207: Running A Test 2026-11-03
208 Chapter 208: Time to Steal It 2026-11-03
209 Chapter 209: Rhapsody in Gloves 2026-11-03
210 Chapter 210: New Drills 2026-11-03
211 Chapter 211: Chameleon’s Memory 2026-11-03
212 Chapter 212: Paths Diverging 2026-11-03
213 Chapter 213: Riding the Tide 2026-11-03
214 Chapter 214: Traded Identity 2026-11-03
215 Chapter 215: The Temptation 2026-11-03
216 Chapter 216: One Fight Away 2026-11-03
217 Chapter 217: The Machine That Feeds on Hype 2026-11-03
218 Chapter 218: For the Sake of Hype 2026-11-03
219 Chapter 219: No Wasted Motion 2026-11-03
220 Chapter 220: Mutual Growth 2026-11-03
221 Chapter 221: What the Ring Teaches 2026-11-03
222 Chapter 222: The Mirror in the Ring 2026-11-03
223 Chapter 223: When the Mind Slips 2026-11-03
224 Chapter 224: Inheritance of Spite 2026-11-03
225 Chapter 225: Between Courtesy and Cruelty 2026-11-03
226 Chapter 226: Smoke and Spotlights 2026-11-03
227 Chapter 227: The Missing Crowd 2026-11-03
228 Chapter 228: The Cruel King’s Army 2026-11-03
229 Chapter 229: When the Joker Turns Ugly 2026-11-03
230 Chapter 230: Welcome to the World of Men 2026-11-03
231 Chapter 231: A Corner Without Mercy 2026-11-03
232 Chapter 232: This Is My Fight 2026-11-03
233 Chapter 233: Momentum 2026-11-03
234 Chapter 234: Cold Blood, Clear Timing 2026-11-03
235 Chapter 235: The Coronation of the Cruel King 2026-11-03
236 Chapter 236: I Touched You 2026-11-03
237 Chapter 237: Timing the Phantom 2026-11-03
238 Chapter 238: When Flickers Become Guns 2026-11-03
239 Chapter 239: Half A Beat Ahead 2026-11-03
240 Chapter 240: Three Tricks Deep 2026-11-03
241 Chapter 241: The Break Between Blows 2026-11-03
242 Chapter 242: Beyond the Plan 2026-11-03
243 Chapter 243: The Illusion of Control 2026-11-03
244 Chapter 244: The Crown in the Corner 2026-11-03
245 Chapter 245: Hope in the Edge of Despair 2026-11-03
246 Chapter 246: A Lullaby in Round Six 2026-11-03
247 Chapter 247: The Moment He Questions Everything 2026-11-03
248 Chapter 248: The Cruel King’s True Face 2026-11-03
249 Chapter 249: The Fighter Who Wouldn’t Break 2026-11-03
250 Chapter 250: The Tenth-round Inferno 2026-11-03

Now that Ryoma finally stops running around the ring, Sekino steps back into the center with a single intention: reclaim control, reclaim the point lead.

“He’s exhausted… now I can rebuild my rhythm.”

He begins pouring on pressure with the flickers, light and fast, angling in from every direction, each with a slightly different tempo.

Whsst!

Whsst! Whsst!

Ryoma rolls under the first, turning his lead shoulder to smother the next. Anything that threatens his face, he parries with a neat tap of his right glove.

He refuses to give ground, not with his legs anyway. He uses only tiny shifts of the rear foot, small rolls, a quiet L-step, and then he casually circles out as if strolling through an empty park.

“Wohoo… would you look at that?” one commentator bursts out. “Ryoma looks calm as a lake, making those veteran flickers look trivial.”

More than twenty seconds pass with Ryoma spent almost no energy on his side, and still Sekino hasn’t landed a clean shot.

Sekino cuts more space, closes the ring, and fires off a few textbook jabs. Ryoma stays planted, shoulder turned toward him, calm as a stone.

Bug, bug, bug!

Then Sekino changes the tune. The two-beat flicker comes from the last textbook jab, sharp and fast, slapping air in a new rhythm.

Ryoma rolls away, leaning his head off the center line. The left cuts nothing but space. But Sekino pivot his lead foot, suddenly lunges forward and fires the shotgun jab.

But still…

Dep!

Ryoma catches it clean in the palm of his right glove.

Another L-step, and he slips away again by that same casual, almost mocking walk.

“There he goes again,” a commentator snaps. “I told you, he’s mocking him. He’s taking this fight way too lightly.”

Ryoma even taunts his opponent. “What’s wrong old man? Aren’t you going to teach me a lesson?”

But Sekino doesn’t bite. His experience tells him to keep the pace, ignore the antics, forget the feud, and focus on building back his rhythm.

***

A minute into round six, dozens of punches have been traded. Plenty have landed, but none clean enough to score.

Everything is unfolding exactly as Ryoma intended, hold the lead without burning energy.

“But this is getting dull… give it another minute and I’ll be dozing off.”

Sekino doesn’t force recklessness either. He likes this rhythm too. In fact, this is how he won most of his fights, pilling up point through control, not rage.

There are still more than two minutes left, plenty of time, enough to make the round matter and give his body a moment to recover.

“Just a few clean hits… that’s all I need.”

He guides Ryoma toward the corner. And here, Ryoma’s L-step disappears. No more room. Ryoma has nowhere to angle out.

“He can’t just drift away from the action now,” a commentator warns. “Are we on the verge of another slugfest?”

“This is it, folks…” another voice jumps in. “They’re going to trade bombs.”

But no, it only leads to attrition of flickers, as Sekino doesn’t want to engage too deeper, not wanting to take any risk.

Their lefts trade like impatient taps on a door. Roll, slap, parry, and deflect. Still no clean blow, but each time leather smacks skin, the crowd erupts at the sound alone.

Eventually…

Dsh!

A slapping left grazes Ryoma’s cheek. Light enough to shrug off, but by scoring logic, it’s a point.

And another…

Dsh!

This time Sekino chains it into the reverse shotgun jab. And Ryoma can’t brush this one aside.

“The light slap is fine… but not this.”

He tightens his guard.

Dug!

Sekino finally sees the gap he needs. He maintains the rhythm and sneaks in a few more slapping lefts.

Dug!

Dsh, dsh, dug, dsh!

“Light or not, they count. This round is mine.”

But Sekino slips into the same tempo too long. Ryoma reads it, feels the beat settle, and times the two-beat flicker perfectly.

Light punches are fast, but no weight, easy to knock away.

Dsh!

Ryoma swats the left aside. Sekino’s rhythm shatters. His arm swings wide, too wide to fire the reverse shotgun jab.

“Damn it…”

Not wanting to be countered, Sekino instantly steps back.

And Ryoma seizes the opening, pivots, and circles out of the corner, slipping back into open space like a ghost that refuses to stay trapped.

He even yawns, covering his mouth with a glove, openly showing how bored he is.

A few pockets of the crowd burst into laughter.

“Slug it out!”

“We want see more.”

Ryoma casually jabs the glove at the spectators, as if urging them to scream louder.

“Come on, Sekino,” he taunts. “They want action. Let’s slug it out.”

And they respond in kind.

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

Sekino finally snaps back, confidence seeping into his voice. “Shut up, brat. If you want it, then get over here.”

Ryoma glances at the HUD, one minute left in the round. And he smirks.

This was the plan from the start. Time to raise the tempo and reclaim every clean punch Sekino scored.

“How many clean punches?”

“Oh, not that many. Alright… let’s even it up.”

He begins to bounce. The footwork wakes up, lazy at first, smooth and slow, gradually closes the distance between them.

Then comes the shift, the swaying pendulum step.

It’s the first time Ryoma has ever shown this Soviet rhythm in an official fight. The crowd knows Ryoma’s usual footwork, but not this strange foreign rhythm.

A ripple of intrigue spreads across the arena. Even Sekino’s posture changes; more alert, more cautious, unsure of what he’s seeing.

Ryoma starts moving forward and back again, probing with reluctant jabs that don’t quite reach. The tempo keeps rising as he inches closer.

Then the swinging jab finally starts landing, each beat matches his back-and-forth sway.

Pak, pak, pak!

Sekino blocks them all, but he hesitates to fire back.

When he finally does throw his flickers, Ryoma is already stepping away, just outside the edge of range.

However, right when Ryoma’s rear foot lands…

Pak!

His swinging jab clips Sekino’s cheek, almost playful, a tap more than a punch.

“There. My first clean hit.”

Sekino resets his Philly Shell, eyes narrowing as he tries to read the rhythm, waiting, watching, hunting for the moment Ryoma steps into range.

He thinks he sees it. Ryoma shifts forward, and Sekino fires a flicker.

But Ryoma parries it with an easy sweep of his right arm and drives in with a swinging left, carrying all his forward momentum behind it.

And he rocks back again without breaking his pendulum rhythm, tossing another swinging left as he retreats.

Dug, dsh!

The first is blocked, but the second taps cleanly against Sekino’s right cheek.

“There… second clean hit,” he says with a smirk.

It’s light, but Sekino is starting to look irritated.

He refuses to take another one of those pesky taps. So he sharpens his focus, studying every pattern, every step, every shift in tempo and distance.

Seeing that, Ryoma smirks, the way an adult would after tricking a naïve kid.

“Too early for that, isn’t it…?”

” Alright… let’s test it out.”

He keeps throwing the same swinging left, still riding the same swaying pendulum rhythm. This time, Sekino reads it well and blocks every single one.

Pak!

Pak, pak, pak!

Then Sekino spots an opening, too tempting to ignore. He’s certain Ryoma will step forward next, so he lunges first, firing a straight right, timing it perfectly.

But…

“Nu-oh…”

Ryoma abruptly halts the pendulum, shaking his head once, the entire rhythm freezing mid-sway.

Sekino’s breath snags; the realization hits him. His right glove stall in the air, inches short of its target.

“Got you…” Ryoma murmurs, driving a cross straight through the gap.

Dhuak!

It lands flush on Sekino’s jaw, whipping his head to the right.

And…

Blug!

Sekino drops to the canvas.

The crowd cheers in one burst… then the noise fractures into confusion.

A bout that looked so calm, even soothing with Ryoma’s pendulum sway, suddenly erupts into a savage counterstrike.