VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma doesn’t answer immediately. He leans back with an easy posture, hands loosely folded, studying the two men across from him with the same quiet sharpness he once used to gauge an opponent’s rhythm.

Logan’s offer, Frank’s numbers, the promise laid neatly on the table. But none of it has left a mark on his expression.

To anyone watching, it looks as though he’s simply taking his time. But beneath that calm, Ryoma is measuring, weighing each intention, each detail that slips through their polished professionalism.

Frank carries himself with the steady assurance of someone who has guided champions and prodigies for decades, while Logan maintains a smooth, diplomatic smile that gives nothing away. On the surface, neither shows even the slightest trace of doubt.

Yet a quiet uncertainty lingers between them, wondering the same thing: what is holding him back, what invisible weight keeps him so perfectly still?

Frank is the one who finally breaks the silence.

“If the offer isn’t enough, you should know this is only the initial figure.” His gaze sharpens with a confidence he doesn’t bother to hide. “If there’s something more you want, something specific, you can name it. I might still have the room to consider it.”

He speaks as though he’s opening a door most fighters would sprint through, fully expecting Ryoma to do the same.

Ryoma exhales slowly before he speaks. “Before anything else… did you talk to Nakahara about this?”

Logan shakes his head. “We wanted to approach you first. Once we know you’re interested, then we’ll discuss it with him.”

Frank adds smoothly, “I know young athletes often form a strong attachment to the coach who raised them. I understand that. But someone like Nakahara… he may not be able to take you far.”

Ryoma’s eyes sharpen. “Someone like Nakahara?”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Frank says quickly, choosing his words with care. “I’m not questioning his skill as a trainer. But skill isn’t enough. This business is complicated, political. Even handling local fights has been difficult for him. The world stage is a different league.”

Logan lifts a hand as if easing the tension. “We know you care about Nakahara-san, and the gym. Which is exactly why this offer benefits everyone. Frank is willing to pay generously to buy your contract from him. It’s normal in this industry. You gain a better contract, and Nakahara receives a significant amount to help the gym… and your teammates.”

As he says this, Logan flicks a quick glance toward his daughter. It’s subtle, but Ryoma catches it. They’re using Reika’s insight, her understanding of his loyalty and ties to the gym, to make the pitch more convincing.

Ryoma doesn’t resent the tactic. He admits that Logan is simply behaving like any seasoned businessman.

“How much?” Ryoma asks.

“Three million,” Frank replies.

“That’s more than one hundred fifty million yen,” Logan adds.

For the first time, Ryoma’s focus tightens. That amount could transform the gym completely, something he can’t dismiss.

But the businessmen across from him are still businessmen. He won’t let himself become a commodity to be squeezed.

“Can you promise me a title shot within a year?” Ryoma asks.

Frank glances at Logan, then back at him. “A year is only four or five fights. I can’t guarantee that. Honestly, even two years is difficult to promise.”

Ryoma’s voice stays calm. “Then there’s no reason for me to leave Nakahara.”

“We can push for a title route within two years,” Frank tries again. “Maybe one and a half if everything goes right. But one year? The odds are small. Even with Nakahara, I doubt you’ll reach it in two.”

“You said try,” Ryoma replies. “Not promise?”

Frank hesitates, and then forces himself to say it. “Fine. I can promise it.”

Ryoma shakes his head immediately. “Your first answer was the real one. But here’s my offer: I’ll accept your deal, but only on a one-and-a-half-year contract. If after one year I don’t see a clear path to a title shot, I have the right to sever it.”

He starts buttoning his jacket, already signaling the conversation is over.

Logan tries to stop him. “Kid, that condition is too much. With the money required to buy out your contract, a one-and-a-half-year term is unrealistic.”

“Then add a clause,” Ryoma says, rising to his feet. “If you give me a title shot before the contract ends, it auto-extends. Five years, ten years… whatever you want.”

Frank stands as well. “Kid, you won’t get many chances like this. Think about it. I’m not asking for your answer now. I’ll be in Japan for one more week.”

He takes out a business card and holds it toward him.

“Call me when you’ve decided.”

Ryoma’s eyes skim the card once, just enough to memorize the number. Then he walks away without taking it.

“It’s you who need to reconsider,” he says, heading for the door. “My terms won’t change. If you have an answer, come to Nakahara’s gym.”

And he leaves them standing in the polished silence he created. But before he reaches the door, Reika is already on her feet.

“Ryoma,” she calls softly, almost too soft for the room.

She moves toward him with quick, restrained steps, composure cracking around the edges.

“Please wait. We can talk about this… just don’t decide like this.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look at her.

“I’ve already said what I need to say,” he replies, tone even, almost gentle, but immovable.

She steps in front of him, breath unsteady. “Then at least listen…”

But Ryoma simply shifts past her, not rudely, but with the unmistakable message that the conversation is over.

Reika follows him out of the office, her voice lowering to an urgent whisper as the door closes behind them.

For a moment that feels forever, silence settles inside the office, until Frank exhales first, long and irritated, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Kid’s got an ego,” he says. “You’d think we insulted him, offering that kind of contract.”

Logan doesn’t respond at first. He walks slowly back to his chair, his expression thoughtful rather than annoyed.

“Not ego,” he says at last. “It’s defense.”

Frank snorts. “Same difference.”

“No,” Logan replies. “Ego wants more money. Ego negotiates to climb higher. Ego tries to prove something.”

He rests an elbow on the armrest, fingers tapping lightly. “That boy isn’t chasing anything we dangled at him.”

Frank glances at the door. “Then what the hell is he chasing?”

“Freedom,” Logan says, “And the right to decide his own path.”

Frank scoffs lightly, but there’s a tightening around his eyes, recognition, not denial.

“He doesn’t know how naive that makes him. The world stage doesn’t care about freedom.”

Logan smiles faintly. “Maybe. But most young talents would have signed before we even finished the offer. But kid walked away without blinking.”

He pauses, a thin thread of respect weaving through his voice. “That makes him much harder to own, and even harder to monetize. As a businessman, I’d usually avoid dealing with someone like that altogether.”

Frank mutters something under his breath, pacing once. “I’ll talk to him again. He’ll crack eventually.”

Logan doesn’t immediately comment on his intention. He keeps his eyes on the door Ryoma exited through.

“Are you willing to consider his conditions?” he asks quietly.

Frank doesn’t answer at once. His jaw tightens, just a flicker, but it’s enough.

Logan finishes the thought for him. “If you’re not, then let it go. That kid won’t bend. That’s just who he is.”