VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Sera finishes reading the clause carefully, then lets the paper lower slightly in his hands. He doesn’t look alarmed. If anything, he looks thoughtful.

“That doesn’t automatically cut us off from NSN,” he says at last. “This clause only binds Ryoma.”

He turns toward Ryoma. “It prevents you from signing any personal endorsement deals for their betting only. But it doesn’t stop the gym from using NSN’s platform to organize or market events. That’s a separate relationship.”

Sera exhales lightly. “So accepting Aqualis Labs’ terms doesn’t shut doors. It just draws a line around Ryoma himself. Which, frankly, was probably the point.”

“I said it before,” Ryoma says. “He’s got his own war to fight. Call him conservative if you like. But I don’t dislike that about him.”

***

By early evening, Ogawa arrives at the gym.

He reads the contract slowly, methodically, glasses perched low on his nose as he works through each clause without commentary.

When he reaches the clause Ryoma pointed out earlier, he stops a little longer.

“This one…” Ogawa says at last, tapping the page, “yes, it only restricts Takeda-kun personally. It doesn’t prohibit the gym from contracting NSN for event organization or marketing. If NSN wanted Ryoma to promote any betting-related service, that would require a distinct personal contract. This clause simply blocks that path.”

The explanation settles what little uncertainty remains. But Ryoma’s system still warns him about an uncertain risk.

>

>

“Who cares…? I don’t like that guy either.”

***

The next day, morning, the meeting room on Aqualis Labs’ executive floor is already prepared when Ryoma arrives.

Floor-to-ceiling windows let in a clean wash of morning light. The table is long, polished, unadorned. Water glasses sit evenly spaced. No folders except one, placed precisely at the center.

They’ve already talked. That much is obvious from the way no one reaches for pleasantries.

Fujimoto sits at the far side of the table, posture relaxed, hands folded lightly in front of him. To his right is Kaito Morishima. The young brand strategist gives Nakahara a brief nod of recognition, acknowledgment without nostalgia, then turns his attention to Ryoma.

On Ryoma’s side, Nakahara takes the seat beside him, shoulders squared, face a bit tensed. Ogawa claims the remaining chair and reaches immediately for the folder.

“This is the final version?” Ogawa asks, already opening it.

“Yes,” Fujimoto replies. “Executed internally this morning. Please read it first.”

Ogawa adjusts his glasses and begins to read. He does not skim. Pages turn at a steady pace.

Then he pauses midway through the document, and flips a page back then reads again.

“Hmm,” he murmurs.

Nakahara’s eyes flick toward the paper. Kaito straightens slightly.

Ogawa lifts his gaze. “There’s an addition here. A signing fee, ten million yen. This is separate from the guaranteed annual amount?”

Fujimoto nods once. “It is.”

Ogawa’s pen hovers. “Just to confirm… this is not an advance against the seventy million.”

“No,” Fujimoto answers. This time, his lips curve faintly. “You may consider it independent.”

Ogawa turns another page. “And the upfront payment remains thirty percent of the annual guarantee. Twenty-one million yen, payable upon execution?”

“That is correct,” Fujimoto says.

Ogawa exhales, then looks up again. “So once Takeda-kun signs, he receives… twenty-one million yen upfront. Plus ten million yen as a signing fee.”

“Yes,” Fujimoto says simply. “That’s thirty one million yen.”

The words sit there, clean and unembellished. Nakahara’s jaw tightens for half a second before he reins it back in.

“It’s just to show our respect,” Fujimoto adds. “Takeda-kun showed us trust earlier than necessary. We believe that should be acknowledged appropriately.”

Ogawa nods slowly, absorbing it. “I see.”

Fujimoto folds his hands again. “I believe the terms demonstrate that we are acting in good faith. For both parties.”

Kaito inclines his head, agreement silent but evident. Ogawa closes the folder fully and slides it across the table toward Ryoma. A pen follows, placed neatly on top.

“Legally sound,” Ogawa says. “No unfavorable changes beyond what we discussed.”

The room goes still. Ryoma looks down at the paper, and then at the pen, expression unchanged. The decision has already been made. This is just the shape it takes.

He is ready to sign. But Fujimoto’s hand lifts slightly from the table.

“One more thing,” he says.

Ryoma pauses. The pen rests between his fingers, uncapped, its weight familiar.

“We have an event planned for tomorrow,” Fujimoto continues. “A small one. Internally prepared, but timed deliberately.” His gaze shifts, briefly, toward the pale daylight beyond the windows. “We intend to use the Christmas momentum.”

Kaito glances at Fujimoto, then back to Ryoma. He already knows which event this is.

Fujimoto’s eyes return to the table. “I would like Takeda-kun to be present,” he says. “If possible.”

The words aren’t framed as a condition. There’s no pressure behind them, almost like a party invitation, stated personally.

“We plan to make the partnership public then,” Fujimoto adds. “No speech required. No performance. You only need to be there.”

“How long?” Ryoma asks.

“Less than an hour,” Fujimoto replies without hesitation. “You would not be asked to say anything beyond a greeting.”

Ryoma nods once. “That’s fine,” he says.

Finally, the pen moves. Ink meets paper in a single, unbroken motion. And just like that, Ryoma has just signed eighty million yen worth of contract with Aqualis Labs.

When he sets the pen down, nothing in the room visibly changes. And yet, the balance has shifted.

Fujimoto reaches for the document and closes it once. He rises from his seat, and extends his hand across the table.

Ryoma stands and accepts it. The handshake is brief and firm.

Kaito is already on his feet. “If you don’t mind,” he says, gesturing lightly, “we’ll take a photo for internal records. And for tomorrow.”

Ryoma nods. Nakahara hesitates for half a beat, then steps in beside him when Kaito motions him over. Fujimoto positions himself without instruction, standing straight, hands folded loosely in front of him.

The camera captures them as they are: composed, aligned, unmistakably intentional.

The partnership is no longer an idea.

It exists.

***

By noon, the lobby is quieter than the executive floor, but not empty. Voices are low, shoes muted against the floor. Ryoma walks at an even pace, Ogawa beside him, Nakahara a step behind.

At the reception desk, two women pause mid-task. One of them leans slightly toward the other, eyes flicking up, then widening.

“That’s… him?”

Her colleague follows her gaze. A beat. Then a quick nod, cheeks coloring almost immediately.

“Yeah. That’s him.”

“I don’t know why, but…” the first says, frowning faintly as if puzzled by her own reaction. “He looks way cooler in the posters. You know. Just his trunks, the lighting, and…”

“And what?” the second murmurs, lips curling as she nudges her with an elbow. “Are you already imagining him naked? Sweaty? Honestly.”

The first splutters, mortified. “I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t have to,” the other says, amused. Then, lowering her voice further, she adds, “Anyway, he’s here to meet the boss. I heard he’s going to be our main brand ambassador.”

“…Really?”

“Mm.”

Ryoma realizes all the eyes that follow him. But he keeps walking as Ogawa gives him quiet reminders, professional and unrelenting. Public appearances. Boundaries. Timing. What to say, what not to say.

Ryoma listens without interruption, eyes forward, absorbing it all with the same composure he brought into the meeting room.

Behind them, Nakahara watches with a tightness in his chest he doesn’t bother to name. Pride, maybe. Or relief. Or something heavier, earned slowly over years of struggle and compromise.

Once they reach outside, Ogawa stops and turns, bowing once. “I’ll handle the remaining paperwork from here,” he says. “If anything comes up, I’ll contact you.”

He prepares to leave, but Ryoma halts him.

“Ogawa-san.”

He pauses. “Yes?”

Ryoma glances sideways at Nakahara. Then he speaks, voice even, as if stating something already settled.

“I’m going to invest the money into the gym,” he says. “All of it.”

Nakahara stops short, blinking rapidly.

Ogawa lifts his brows. “Invest…?”

“I want to add it to the gym’s capital,” Ryoma says. “Formally. In exchange, I’ll take a percentage of the gym’s assets. That’s if… the old man is willing to share it.”

Ogawa doesn’t respond. He turns his head slightly, eyes shifting to Nakahara, expecting his response.

But Nakahara stays silent. For a moment, he seems elsewhere; a hypothetical heaven built on naïve fantasy. This isn’t just about money. It’s an answer to every hand that’s tried to drag Ryoma elsewhere.

The kid’s showing interest in investing now, to buy a share of the gym’s assets. Which means he’s seriously thinking about growing with him, along with his humble gym.

“Kid…You’re serious?”

Ryoma nods once, his smile light and easy.

The city keeps moving, but something between them has settled, firm, and no longer in doubt.