VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

In business, there are days when distrust must be folded, pressed flat, and tucked neatly beneath a smile. Days when motives are masked behind polished shoes and polite greetings. Days when both sides know exactly what the other wants, and meet anyway, because profit has its own gravity.

Today is one of those days.

Nakahara sits across from Logan Rhodes in the executive office of NSN’s Tokyo branch. Logan’s assistant, Maria, stands beside him with a tablet in hand, posture impeccable, eyes sharp enough to cut through any pleasantries.

Logan Rhodes smiles, a businessman’s smile, warm enough to pass, cold enough to warn. “First of all,” he begins, “I appreciate you coming all the way here on short notice, Nakahara-san.”

Nakahara returns the smile. “I’m the one asking for a favor, so this much is expected.”

They both know that’s only half true. But in business, half-truths often work better than honesty. So they let it pass, no challenge, no correction, each silently accepting the fiction because it keeps the wheels turning, and keeps the deal alive.

Maria taps her tablet, bringing up the proposal. Logan gestures toward it lazily, as if discussing something trivial instead of a multimillion-yen opportunity.

“As per our agreement last year, NSN will organize this event under that… wager your boy won.” He chuckles briefly, polite, harmless, and almost believable. “Meaning production, logistics, venue… everything, will be handled on our dime.”

Nakahara inclines his head. “And I appreciate that.”

“But,” Logan continues smoothly, “considering the scale of this one, I think it’s only reasonable that NSN receives at least something in return. Nothing too burdensome.”

Maria turns the tablet toward Nakahara. “We’re proposing exclusive broadcast rights. Domestic and international. No other network will air the event.”

Nakahara’s expression remains flat, his features held in a practiced stillness that gives away neither the strain he feels nor the calculations racing behind his eyes.

“And the price?” he finally asks.

“Thirty million yen,” Logan says casually, as though discussing the weather.

At that, Nakahara’s brows rise slightly, completely caught off guard.

That figure is generous, far more than he expected. The last entire event only turned over about twenty million yen. And here Logan is offering twenty-five just for the broadcast rights.

“There’s no downside for you,” Logan adds. “We pay, you keep your gate, you keep your sponsorships, you keep your fighter’s purse structure. All we ask is exclusivity.”

Nakahara leans back slightly. And without much thinking, he gives him a nod.

“Accepted.”

Maria blinks, surprised by how quickly the answer comes. Logan only smiles wider, though Nakahara can see the flicker of calculation behind it. He was expecting resistance from the old man, perhaps even hoping for it, but Nakahara offers none.

“Well,” Logan says, steepling his fingers, “since NSN is investing this much, we intend to make the event top-tier. Not mid-level, not stepping-stone level. But the top one.”

Nakahara says nothing. He knows what’s coming, already bracing himself for the next demand, the next “suggestion” disguised as business sense, the price attached to Logan’s generosity.

“You’ve secured Paulo Ramos from the Philippines,” Logan says, folding his hands atop the desk. “That’s a strong headline, no question. But if we’re aiming for a top-tier event, the card needs depth. The semifinals have to carry the same weight as the main event. No soft spots, no filler.”

He leans back with an easy confidence, tapping a slow rhythm on the armrest as he evaluates Nakahara’s reaction. “For now, I’m thinking Ota City Gym. Full capacity, four thousand seats, not a single row empty. We use this one to test the market. And if it sells out…”

His smile sharpens just a touch. “Then the next stop is Ryogoku Kokugikan.”

Nakahara exhales quietly. “I understand. But I’ve already stretched my budget bringing Ramos. For the semifinal, I was considering offering one million yen. Enough for a decent opponent for Kenta.”

Logan shakes his head gently. Not dismissive, but strategic. “One million won’t get you anyone notable in the OPBF top ten. And if you want to push Moriyama forward, you’ll need a top ten. Preferably top seven.”

“Kenta’s only had one fight in the OPBF,” Nakahara counters. “No reputation, barely ranked fifteen. Bringing a top-ten fighter against someone with his reputation…” He shakes his head. “They’ll ask for more than I can pay.”

The room stills. Maria looks between the two men, as if waiting for the moment where courtesy ends and real business begins. Logan taps a finger against the armrest, and then leans forward with deliberate calm.

He’s offered funding, yes. But the transfer comes later. Nakahara still needs immediate capital; operational money, not a future promise.

“What if money wasn’t the issue?” Logan presses.

Nakahara’s eyes sharpen. And Logan gestures to Maria, expecting her to note a new adjustment.

“I’ll put half of the broadcast right fee on the table, right now,” Logan says. “And another three millions upfront, NSN as the main sponsor.”

Nakahara’s eyes brighten, just slightly. Just a moment ago he saw Logan as someone he could never fully trust. But now, with this offer on the table, he allows himself to dream a little bigger again.

“Use it however you see fit,” Logan continues. “Purses, travel fees, promotion. Bring in names that make this card shine. Not just for Kenta. Aramaki too. I see great potential in this kid.”

It’s a powerful offer, and both men know it. It’s the kind that shifts the balance of a negotiation without a single raised voice.

Logan presents it like generosity; Nakahara hears it for what it really is, an investment with strings waiting to be pulled.

Even so, money is money, and in this industry, opportunity often arrives wearing a smile you don’t trust.

Nakahara studies him carefully. “You’re investing this much… because of Ryoma.”

“Of course,” Logan replies without hesitation. “Your fighter is the most explosive talent Japan has produced in years. Pushing him forward benefits NSN just as much as it benefits you.”

His smile widens, one part sincerity, two parts strategy, the kind of expression built to reassure while quietly steering the room.

“And for that, Nakahara-san… you need to stop acting like a small promoter. You’re building something bigger now. Treat it that way.”

Nakahara doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t break eye contact either. Both men know their intentions.

Both men know their boundaries. Both men know they will carve profit from each other’s ambitions.

And still, they shake hands. Because that is how business works; two men who don’t trust each other, sealing an agreement neither can refuse, knowing full well that profit often grows best in the soil of uneasy alliances.

“Deal,” Nakahara says, his voice steady.

Logan releases his hand and gives Maria a small nod.

“Please make the revisions to the contract and prepare two printed copies, one for Nakahara-san and one for us.”

Maria is already tapping across her tablet, inputting the new conditions with quick, precise strokes.

Once she finishes, the printer in the corner comes to life, spitting out a fresh set of pages. She gathers them neatly and returns to the desk, placing the revised contract in front of Nakahara.

Now all that remains is the final step: Nakahara’s signature. The moment hangs in the air, as certain as gravity.