VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

By the time the camera finds Jade again, the damage looks quieter. The swelling that had pulled at his face in the third round has been worked down, smoothed into something far less dramatic.

His left cheek no longer bulges the same way, the darkness under his eye muted. There’s still stiffness in his jaw, but nothing that suggests a man in trouble. If anything, he looks composed.

Moments later, the referee’s voice cuts through the arena.

“Seconds out!”

The corners move at once. Stools are dragged back, towels vanish, water bottles cleared away. The ring empties until only the two fighters remain inside the ropes.

The tension sharpens as the crowd senses it too. The restless noise from before tightens into anticipation, everyone waiting to see if the madness of the third round was a prelude, or a warning for something much more dangerous.

“Round four is where answers start coming,” one commentator says.

“Especially after a round like that,” the other adds. “You don’t walk through exchanges like those without consequences.”

“But look at McConnel,” the first notes. “He doesn’t look like a man slowed down.”

“No,” the second agrees. “If anything, he looks eager.”

Both fighters settle in their corners, eyes locked across the ring.

And then…

Ding!

Round Four.

Jade steps out first, claiming the center with purpose. There’s a quickness to him now, a slight forward lean that wasn’t there before. Whatever he absorbed in the third round, he’s left it behind.

Across from him, Ryoma moves as he always does, opening the round by veering to his left, easing into that lazy sway of the flicker stance, rhythm loose, eyes sharp.

It’s the same picture. But after what they’ve just been through, everyone knows better than to trust it.

Jade steps in first, southpaw, gloves low, eager to seize the center.

But Ryoma doesn’t give him the second step. His left snaps out at once, a sharp flicker, clean and direct.

Dsh!

The jab clips Jade’s cheek, stopping his forward motion cold.

“Straight away!” one commentator barks. “Takeda wastes no time at all!”

“That left again,” the other cuts in. “No setup, no warning… He just snaps it out and stops Jade in his tracks.”

“You can see it,” the first adds quickly. “McConnel wanted another slugfest, and Takeda shut the door the instant it opened.”

“And that jab wasn’t light,” the second says. “That was a statement. Round four, same problem.”

Ryoma keeps it going. The left flashes again, fast and stiff, not the light two-beat tease from earlier rounds.

This time, his flicker jab has intent. It snaps out and back, hard to catch, harder to swat, thrown at weird angles, from just outside Jade’s reach.

Dsh!

Dug, dug, and…

Dsh! again.

Ryoma circles left as he throws it, sliding to the outside of Jade’s lead hand, refusing to give him a straight line in.

Jade tries to step with him, shoulders turning, weight shifting forward, but the distance keeps slipping away.

Every time he thinks he’s close enough, that left is already there, touching his face…

Dsh!

…forcing him to reset.

Now his head movements become wider, more active now, never giving Ryoma an easy target. Fifteen seconds in, and the pattern is already clear, Jade can’t find the door.

His jaw tightens. He plants, then switches to orthodox, not as a trick, not as bait, but out of necessity. He needs a new angle, something to cut off the circle and force his way inside.

Ryoma sees it, and adjusts immediately.

The flicker stops. His upper body stills, the loose sway fading as his feet settle. The rhythm changes, no more circling away.

His rear foot anchors, lead foot easing back and forth in a subtle pendulum. The sway comes alive once more, just different form.

Shoulders loose, his gloves swing lazily back and forth along with his subtle pendulum step, blurring the distance between him and the champion.

A step-in counter won’t come from denial alone. Ryoma has to keep the space contested, frustrate Jade into forcing his way in, and draw out the kind of commitment that can’t be pulled back.

The Philly Shell could invite a coiling counter, but not the one he wants. For a step-in counter, he needs a stance that allows him to carry momentum into the punch.

But the champion is aware of the plan. He doesn’t rush it. He keeps the pressure compact, controlled, never lunging far enough to give Ryoma the space he’s waiting for.

***

Most of Jade’s punches sit between a straight and a hook. Not fully extended, not short and looping either. Tight enough to smother any step-in, long enough to reach Ryoma, heavy enough to thud against guard and arms and make him feel every exchange.

For the first time, Ryoma shifts back into his old style. He rises onto his toes, bouncing lightly, footwork smooth and economical. He steps in and out, just far enough to let punches skim past, just close enough to stay engaged.

“Oh… look at that movement,” one commentator says, surprise creeping in.

“That’s the old Takeda,” the other adds. “He’s back on his feet now.”

“He looks… lively again,” the first says. “Like he found another gear.”

Then it almost happens. Ryoma steps out, angle opening, and for a split second the ghost of that phantom shot appears again, the same opening, the same timing.

But as soon as Ryoma steps outside, Jade reacts instantly. He pivots through, turning to his left by pulling his left foot to the rear.

He’s back into southpaw, and Ryoma is facing him in squared now.

Ryoma adjusts too. He slips back a step, his stance settles, torso turning sideways as his guard reshapes itself.

The Philly Shell returns, his left hand hanging low again, loose and inviting.

From there, the flicker comes alive again. Jade is stuck reacting, eyes chasing hands, searching for a door that never quite opens.

Two minutes in, Ryoma is still in control of the fight. But this isn’t what he wants.

Aramaki leans forward, eyes tracking the ring. “He’s got him,” he murmurs. “So why hasn’t he set the counter yet?”

Nakahara doesn’t answer right away. He watches another flicker land, another step out of range.

Then he exhales. “Because there’s nothing to counter.”

“Setting a counter is never easy,” Sera adds. “And the one Ryoma is trying to land… it’s worse. He needs more than an opening. He needs timing. Angle. The opponent’s full momentum coming into him.”

His gaze hardens. “And when the man across from you knows exactly what you’re trying to do…”

Nakahara finishes it for him. “Forget the risk. Creating the opening alone is already a battle.”

The fight settles into something colder; mid-range exchanges where gloves collide, spark, and slide off each other’s lines.

Punches are thrown, answered, redirected. But none with full commitment, none with the intent to end things outright.

It becomes a game of position.

When Jade shifts into orthodox, Ryoma answers with the pendulum, rhythm tightening and loosening just enough to disrupt timing. Jade reaches, but the distance is never quite right.

When Jade switches back to southpaw, Ryoma changes again. The flicker returns, sharp and disciplined, layered with the Philly Shell.

His left hand snaps out, taps, prods, never overextended, never lazy. He lands enough to score, but the opening he’s waiting for never appears.