VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Now it’s clear that the problem isn’t just acclimation.

Jet lag alone would have been manageable. Weight cutting alone, difficult but familiar. But stacked together, layered on top of a body clock dragged halfway across the world, the effect is uglier than Hiroshi expected.

Ryoma’s metabolism doesn’t settle well. His sleep fractures. His head stays fogged, pressure sitting behind his eyes like it never fully drains.

Even eating becomes work. At lunch the day before, and again at dinner, he had stared at the food Hiroshi prepared for him longer than necessary, appetite dulled, stomach uncooperative, forcing each bite down out of discipline rather than hunger.

Now they’re all gathered in one apartment, the discussion circling the same problem from different angles, none of them liking where it leads.

Hiroshi stands near the small dining table, arms folded, eyes fixed on the scale on the floor. Ryoma has just stepped off it.

“Sixty-three point eight,” Sera says quietly, reading the number again as if it might change.

On paper, it’s good news. Too good.

“That’s not how this was supposed to happen,” Hiroshi mutters. “You’re ahead of schedule, but this isn’t controlled loss.”

Ryoma shrugs, rubbing the side of his neck. “I know. It’s been like this even before we got here.”

Hiroshi looks up sharply. “You weren’t at sixty-five when you left Japan?”

“No,” Ryoma answers. “Sixty-four.”

Hiroshi blinks. “Not sixty-five?”

“No.” Ryoma meets his eyes evenly. “I had doubts, so I cut it myself.”

The room stills. The others exchange uneasy glances, thrown by Ryoma’s recklessness in deciding on the weight cut on his own terms.

Hiroshi’s brow tightens. “How did you do it?”

Ryoma exhales, slow. “Come on, Hiroshi. This isn’t my first cut. I know my body. Just forget that part. Focus on what’s ahead.”

Hiroshi isn’t satisfied, but he doesn’t push. He already knows what bothers him isn’t the number, but the way Ryoma looks standing there. Lean, yes, but hollowed around the eyes. Weight lost without rhythm, without the body ever agreeing to it.

Before anyone can say more, Ryoma’s phone vibrates on the table.

He glances at the screen, then frowns slightly. “It’s the guy from Aqualis.”

Ryoma answers, pressing the phone to his ear. “Takeda here.”

A man’s voice comes through immediately, crisp and businesslike.

[Takeda-kun, this is Kagawa Jun from Aqualis Labs. We’re at the gym now.]

Ryoma glances at Hiroshi. “Gym?”

[Yes, I’m here with Dr. Kenji Mizuno. He’s the nutritionist assigned to support your conditioning during this camp. We were told to expect you this morning.]

Ryoma rubs his temple. “Sorry about that. We’re… not there yet.”

There’s a brief pause on the line.

[Is something wrong?]

“Jet lag hit harder than expected,” Ryoma says. “Condition’s unstable, not according to plan. We decided not to move yet.”

Another short silence, longer this time.

[I see… Dr. Mizuno here wants to know what’s your current weight?]

“Sixty-three point eight.”

[…That’s much lower than your gym informed before. Dr. Mizuno is afraid it is not ideal if the cut isn’t controlled.]

“That’s what my coach is worried about.”

[Understood. Then there’s no reason for us to wait at the gym.]

Then again, a muffled voice speaks in the background, Japanese, low, quick.

[Dr. Mizuno says he’ll come to you.]

Ryoma straightens slightly. “You’re sure?”

[Yes. Send me the address.]

“Okay, I’ll send the address in text message,” Ryoma says. “Sorry for the trouble.”

[It is alright, Takeda-kun. This is why we’re here. We’ll be there shortly.]

The call ends. Ryoma lowers the phone and sets it on the table.

Hiroshi looks at him. “They’re coming?”

Ryoma nods. “Both of them.”

For the first time that morning, Hiroshi allows himself a measured breath.

If the plan is already cracking, then at least it will be examined properly, by someone whose job is to notice the damage before it becomes irreversible.

***

A short while later, the doorbell rings.

Sera is the one who answers. Two men stand in the hallway; Kagawa Jun, neatly dressed and already familiar, and beside him a lean middle-aged man with calm eyes and a soft posture, carrying a small case.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Sera says, stepping aside.

Dr. Kenji Mizuno bows lightly as he enters, eyes already scanning the room; examining their faces, and the sluggish way everyone moves.

“I was expecting to see you at the gym this morning,” he says, not accusing, just stating a fact. “Why the delay?”

Sera exchanges a glance with Nakahara before answering. “This camp wasn’t originally planned for us. We inherited everything. The schedule, the accommodation, the arrival date. It was prepared for Sagawa’s team. He was injured, and Ryoma was chosen as the replacement.”

Kagawa’s brows lift slightly before turning to Nakahara. “But even if it wasn’t for you guys, ten days… that’s too tight. Are you sure the host didn’t intend this to disadvantage the challenger?”

Nakahara shakes his head immediately. “No. Things like this are agreed upon before contracts are signed. I believe this was what Sagawa’s camp accepted.”

Dr. Mizuno folds his arms, expression sharpening. “Even so, it’s reckless.”

“Not really,” Nakahara replies. “Unlike Ryoma, Sagawa doesn’t cut weight. And they likely needed more time back home for sparring with Shinichi Yanagimoto, refining tactics. And they couldn’t just take Sinichi along with them here.”

Dr. Mizuno looks momentarily taken aback. He turns to Kagawa, but the man is equally puzzled.

“Never mind that,” Nakahara waves a hand. “Just technical boxing reasons. Simply put, Sagawa only needed acclimation here.”

Mizuno considers it, and then nods once. “In that case… ten days is sufficient for acclimation alone.”

Hiroshi exhales, rubbing his face tiredly. “That’s where we misjudged it,” he admits. “This is our first time abroad. We thought acclimation and weight cut could run together like usual. Normally, Ryoma only needs the final week to go from sixty-four to sixty-one through dehydration. We’ve done it many times without problems.”

“It’s doable during normal condition,” Dr. Mizuno says gently. He turns his attention fully to Ryoma now, gaze clinical but not unkind. “But jet lag changes everything. Especially for the first time flyer. Your body clock is disrupted. Hormones, appetite, hydration response… all of it.”

He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Diet alone will already be difficult. But the most serious issue is dehydration process. In Takeda’s current state, water will cling stubbornly to his body. He’ll feel thirsty. He’ll feel starved. And yet the water won’t come off easily.”

Hiroshi’s jaw tightens. As a fitness trainer confident in his understanding of the body, this is unfamiliar ground.

“And that affects more than the scale,” Mizuno continues. “Training quality will drop. Concentration dulls. Reaction slows. The body feels heavy even when it isn’t. Any regimen you force through that will feel twice as hard, with half the return.”

The room falls quiet. No one speaks right away.

Ryoma, seated near the scale, looks down at his hands. His weight might already be falling, but not in a way any of them had planned.

“This,” Dr. Mizuno finishes calmly, “is the real problem you’re facing now.”

Dr. Mizuno pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “There’s one more thing.”

He looks at Ryoma directly now. “When the body is under this kind of stress… sleep disruption, caloric deficit, dehydration, your immune response drops sharply. Minor things become problems. You catch a cold. A serious fever. Gastrointestinal issues.”

He shakes his head, and lets that sink first before continuing. “If he gets sick in the next few days,” Mizuno finishes calmly, “you won’t have the margin to recover.”

Hiroshi breaks the silence first. “So… is it really impossible?” His voice is careful, as if wording alone might change the answer.

Dr. Mizuno doesn’t reply immediately. He leans back slightly, eyes lifting toward the ceiling, replaying numbers and timelines in his head.

“Impossible is not the word I’d use,” he says at last. “But it will not be clean. And it will not be comfortable.”

Nakahara nods once, then speaks, his tone firm. “If we fail to make weight and the bout is canceled, we don’t just lose the fight. We pay for the opponent’s losses. We get fined by the association. And worse… Ryoma’s name, and this gym’s credibility, will be damaged. More than it already is.”

Sera rubs his forehead, frustration written plainly across his face. “This should’ve been Sagawa’s camp’s problem. We took the title fight from them. And now, because of our own incompetence, we’ve taken the responsibility too.”

Dr. Mizuno listens without interrupting. Then he straightens. “You can only try,” he says. “But before anything else, may I see your conditioning plan?”

Hiroshi nods quickly. He pulls out his notebook, flips to the page he’d filled out the night before, margins crowded with last-minute adjustments, and hands it over.

Dr. Mizuno studies it in silence. His expression doesn’t change. After a moment, he takes out his pen.

Lines are crossed out. One after another.

“It’s better to focus solely on the weight cut,” he says. “No sparring at all. Technique drills… cut them in half. We observe how his body responds until the last five days. If he can’t reach sixty-two kilograms by then, you abandon everything else and commit fully to making weight.”

Nakahara hesitates. “That will affect his performance on fight night.”

Dr. Mizuno nods. “Yes. But it is still better than failing at the scale.” He caps his pen. “For now, don’t think about winning. I’m sorry to say this, but you need to be realistic. Focus on what you can still control.”