VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

March 20th.

The orthopedic clinic near Suidobashi, a place that has seen too many athletes come through with the same quiet hope and the same reluctant patience.

Ryoma sits on the examination chair with his right hand resting on a cold tray, fingers loosely curled, swelling noticeably reduced compared to weeks ago but not gone.

Dr. Hayashi studies the latest X-rays under the light, glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he leans closer.

“The inflammation has improved,” he says calmly. “That’s good news. But the fractures are still there. They haven’t fused yet.”

Ryoma exhales slowly, already expecting it. He flexes his fingers a fraction, stopping short when a dull ache answers back. It’s no longer sharp pain, just a reminder that the bone remembers what happened.

Nakahara steps forward, hands tucked into his jacket sleeves. “How much longer?” he asks. “The doctor in Australia said six to eight weeks after the fight.”

Dr. Hayashi nods. “That estimate still stands. But recovery isn’t a straight line.” He taps the X-ray lightly. “If you rush load-bearing work too soon, you risk reopening the fracture. Heavy bag training is out for now. I doubt it even after four weeks.”

Sera’s brows knit together. “Even after four weeks?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Dr. Hayashi replies. “Light shadowboxing, footwork, conditioning… fine. But full impact? No. Not yet.”

Nakahara lets out a slow breath through his nose. “Ryoma took the title as a replacement,” he says quietly. “He wasn’t the number one contender. By regulation, that means he has to defend within one hundred and twenty days against the legitimate challenger. There’s no flexibility in that.”

He pauses, eyes lingering on Ryoma’s wrapped hand. “I’m worried he’ll be forced back into the ring without proper preparation again. Just like last time.”

Dr. Hayashi nods once, his expression unchanged. “I’m aware of the circumstances around his last fight,” he says. “The short notice, the poor conditioning.”

Then his tone firms, careful but unyielding. “That’s exactly why I need to be clear. If you rush this recovery, you’re not only risking the next defense. You’re risking the rest of his career.”

Sera nods once, already calculating. “I figured something like this might come up. So I asked the commissioner for an extension three days ago.”

Nakahara turns to him, surprise flashing across his face before easing into relief. “You did?”

Sera gives a small shrug. “We’re waiting for the response. With medical documentation, they should grant it.”

“They will?” Nakahara asks.

“They should,” Sera says firmly. “We have a valid reason.”

Ryoma listens without speaking, his gaze drifting back to the X-ray glowing faintly on the wall. The bone will heal. That much is certain. The question is how much time it will take, and how much time he’s about to lose.

***

By the time they get back to the gym, the familiar quiet wraps around them like a held breath.

To their surprise, Aki is already there. She stands near the ring with her phone in hand, posture stiff, eyes snapping toward them the moment the door closes.

“Coach Nakahara!”

Relief flashes across her face for half a second before it hardens into urgency.

“Good, you’re back,” she says, not bothering with pleasantries. “We have a problem.”

Nakahara frowns. “What kind of problem?”

Aki steps closer, already scrolling. “The kind that doesn’t wait for injuries to heal.”

She turns the screen toward them. Headlines stack one after another, foreign outlets mixed with domestic sports sites.

Nakahara Boxing Gym Management Incompetent — No.1 Challenger Demands OPBF Strip New Champion

Ryoma’s eyes narrow slightly, reading without moving.

“They’re saying you ignored a formal letter of intent,” Aki continues. “Thanid Kouthai’s camp went public this morning. They claim you’ve been dodging negotiations for days.”

“That’s impossible,” Sera says immediately. “We haven’t received anything.”

“That’s what I thought,” Aki replies. “But from the outside, it looks bad. Really bad.”

Nakahara’s jaw tightens. “What else?”

Aki hesitates, then exhales. “There’s talk you promised Hirobumi Sagawa a priority defense. That you don’t understand international procedure. Some of them are openly questioning whether the title should’ve been given to you at all.”

The silence that follows is heavy, edged with something uncomfortable.

Indeed, Ryoma had given Fumihiro his word. But Nakahara knows the rules don’t bend for intention; because Ryoma claimed the title as a replacement, not the top contender.

The first defense must be against the legitimate challenger. Only after that can any promise mean anything at all.

“Where did they even get this story?” Nakahara mutters, rubbing his forehead.

Aki blinks. “So it’s true you promised Sagawa a priority defense?”

“We did,” Nakahara answers without hesitation. “That doesn’t mean we intended to fight him immediately. The rule is still the rule. From the beginning, I’ve been preparing Ryoma to face Thanid Kouthai first.”

Aki turns to Ryoma, and Ryoma simply gives her a nod.

“Even Sagawa’s camp hasn’t pushed for anything,” Ryoma says, “because they understand the rule. There’s no reason for us to accept a challenge that hasn’t even been formally made.”

“So…” Aki frails, “the story about you avoiding them just to give Sagawa the first ticket was a misunderstanding?”

“Yeah,” Nakahara nods. “Now I’m curious where they got that story in the first place.”

“Excuse me,” Sera turns on his heel. “I’m checking the office.”

Once inside, the desktop screen flares awake. Sera opens the gym’s email account, fingers moving fast, irritation creeping in despite himself.

He expects for a response from the OPBF first, hoping there will be extension for Ryoma’s recovery. But then he freezes to find and unread message, arrived by March 17th.

“Oh, man… this is from three days ago.”

***

Subject : URGENT: Mandatory Title Defense – OPBF Featherweight Division

From: Chao Phraya Elite Boxing Promotion

CC: OPBF Commissioner

Dear Sir/Madam,

This notice is sent on behalf of Chao Phraya Elite Boxing Promotion, representing Mr. Thanid Kouthai, the current OPBF No.1 ranked contender in the Lightweight Division.

Under OPBF regulations, the champion is required to defend the title against the No.1 contender within one hundred and twenty (120) days of winning the championship.

We hereby formally offer June 25 as the date for the mandatory title bout between Mr. Ryoma Takeda and Mr. Thanid Kouthai.

Please submit a formal Letter of Intent within forty-eight (48) hours of receipt of this email. In the absence of a timely response, we will proceed accordingly in consultation with the OPBF Commissioner.

We trust your management understands the importance of compliance with OPBF regulations.

Sincerely,

Chao Phraya Elite Boxing Promotion

***

Sera’s chest tightens. Forty-eight hours to respond. And he only reads the email now, three days after being ignored there.

“…Damn it,” he mutters.

He doesn’t bother closing the browser. The chair scrapes sharply against the floor as he stands, already moving, urgency pushing him faster than thought.

Sera strides out of the office and heads straight for the gym floor, his pace brisk, jaw set, knowing this isn’t something that can wait even a minute longer.

“Nakahara-san,” Sera calls out before he even reaches them, his voice strained. “We’ve got a problem. They sent a formal email three days ago. And they demanded a reply within forty-eight hours. But I only read it just now. I’m truly sorry.”

The words land hard. Nakahara turns slowly, and Ryoma’s brows knit as the implication settles in.

“Forty-eight hours?” Ryoma says, frowning. “That’s unreasonable. This isn’t a phone call. Emails get buried, delayed, filtered. You can’t assume the moment you send it, the other side has read it.”

He shakes his head, irritation creeping into his voice. “For something this serious, that kind of deadline feels forced. Almost like they were hoping we’d miss it.”

Aki lowers her phone. “And the narration they created one-sidedly is already spreading. If you don’t control the narrative soon, they will.”

The tension doesn’t stay contained. It leaks into the gym, carried in Nakahara’s furrowed brow and Sera’s clenched jaw, sharp enough that the rhythm of training falters around them.

Ryoma exhales through his nose, slow and steady. His hand throbs faintly inside the wrap, a dull reminder ticking beneath the noise.

Nakahara closes his eyes for a brief moment, and then opens them again.

“Then we respond,” he says, already walking toward the office.

But even as he says it, the sense settles in that they are already playing catch-up in a fight that has started without them.