VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The fear arrives before anyone names it. Nakahara and Sera do not ask about the call, but the way Ryoma stands, phone still loose in his hand, tells them enough.

After a moment, Ryoma speaks first. “Fujimoto-san wants a meeting with us,” he says, tone even, as if reporting weather rather than pressure.

Sera looks up sharply. “Not just with you?”

Ryoma shakes his head. “With management. All of us.”

He exhales once, slower this time. “They didn’t just support me, remember. They backed this gym. The van, the equipment, the new ring. They expect to know how we’re handling my defense without repeating Melbourne.”

Nakahara nods, the movement tired but sincere. “They have every right to be concerned.”

He pauses, then adds, quieter, “We’ll go. Explain things as they are. If they’re willing to help financially, even partially, it gives us more room to bid.”

No one moves right away. The office stays heavy, numbers and outcomes hovering without shape. Until then, a voice cuts through from the gym floor.

“Are you kidding me?” Ryohei snaps, loud enough that even the walls fail to soften it.”All you people ask about is Ryoma this, Ryoma that. I’ve got a title fight too, you know.”

There’s a scrape of shoes, a journalist murmuring something back.

Ryohei doesn’t slow. “Why don’t you ask the old man about my preparation for once? See if he can give you a decent answer about someone who’s actually fighting.”

Nakahara’s brow twitches. The words land harder than intended, but he doesn’t rise.

“Let it go,” he tells Ryoma quietly. “He’s frustrated. And he has a right to be.”

Sera is already standing. “No, he doesn’t have a right to talk like that about you.”

He heads for the door before either of them can stop him. And immediately, his voice cuts in sharp and controlled.

“Ryohei. Enough.”

Ryohei turns, chest still heaving. “They won’t shut up about him,” he says, bitterness cracking through. “It’s like the rest of us don’t exist. You even neglecting my title fight too.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Sera says. “You don’t turn sideways and start taking shots at your own gym.”

Ryohei scoffs, the sound brittle. “Easy for you to say. What if I lose my fight because you’re too busy cleaning up after him?”

Sera steps closer, voice dropping but hardening. “You think Ryoma asked for this? You think this mess benefits anyone? Don’t forget what he’s already done for this gym. And don’t start looking for excuses like you’re preparing for a loss.”

Ryohei looks away, jaw tightening. He turns toward the locker room, muttering under his breath, careful not to let the words carry.

“If you’re really that worried about your fight,” Sera continues, “you should’ve been doing roadwork before the gym even opened. That’s how Ryoma wins. As his senior, you should know better.”

Back in the office, the tension doesn’t ease. It only spreads, threading through the gym like something that won’t leave just because no one invites it to stay.

***

By late morning, the noise outside the gym finally thins out. The journalists drift away one by one, phones lowered, interest dulled for the moment by the absence of fresh answers.

Only Aki remains. For her, the door is never truly closed.

Inside, the gym settles back into something resembling normal. Gloves thud against bags in the distance, skipping ropes scrape the floor, breath and movement finding their old rhythm again.

Ryoma is already training. But there are still no bags, no mitts, absolutely no impact to his knuckles.

Instead, he moves through shadowboxing drills wearing the resistance suit, footwork precise, shoulders rolling, hands cutting the air without ever committing weight behind them.

His knuckles stay protected, disciplined, as if he’s training restraint as much as form.

When he finishes, he drops onto the bench near the ring and reaches for his towel. Aki approaches, phone still in her hand, but not raised.

“How are your hands?” she asks first, half concern, half habit.

Ryoma flexes his fingers slowly. “They don’t hurt anymore,” he says. “But that’s without hitting anything.” He shrugs lightly. “The doctor told me not to test it yet.”

“And your head?” she asks after a beat. “Any anxiety? First title defense, everything around it…” She hesitates, then adds, “Have you started studying your next opponent?”

“I’ve watched a few of his older fights,” Ryoma says. “Not enough.”

“Think you can win?” Aki presses. “Any prediction?”

Ryoma wipes his face, considering. “I don’t make predictions without data,” he says. “I want to watch all his fights. Not just the recent ones.” He leans back slightly. “It’s the progression that matters. How much he’s changed between bouts. That tells me more about how much he’ll improve before we meet.”

He pauses, glancing toward the other athletes moving through their routines.

Lowering his voice, he adds, “And we don’t even have a clear schedule yet.”

Aki nods, understanding what’s left unsaid.

Ryoma exhales quietly. “Honestly,” he says, “with everything happening right now… I’m more worried about the gym than about keeping the belt.”

Aki exhales and continues, lowering her voice. “The purse bid, right?” she says. “No one really expects your camp to win it. And… from what I’m hearing, none of the local promoters are stepping in.”

Ryoma turns to her, blinking once. “None of them?”

She shakes her head. “That’s the word. It’ll likely be just this gym… against at least five promoters from Thailand.”

She hesitates, then adds, “Some people say the locals don’t want Nakahara Gym getting any bigger.”

“Yeah, right,” Ryoma scoffs. “Why spend big money just to help someone else’s champion?”

She tilts her head, lips curling into a thin smile. “Or maybe it’s you they don’t like.”

She lets out a light laugh, forcing it to sound like a joke, even as the weight of it lingers between them.

***

By standing his ground against rivals and promoters alike, Ryoma has already made enemies he can see. What unsettles him more is the risk of damaging the relationship he can’t afford to lose.

He knows what Aqualis Labs expects of him. He wants to deliver on all of it, but the coming purse bid is no longer something he can steer with effort alone.

The meeting room at Aqualis Labs’ headquarters is unchanged from the day he signed his contract.

At the head of the table sits President Hirotaka Fujimoto. To his right is Kaito Morishima, tablet already open. Mika Aoyama sits further down, documents spread neatly before her.

For some reason, Takumi Hasegawa is absent. Ryoma registers it immediately, and despite himself, a small measure of tension loosens in his chest.

“Ryoma’s recovery will take at least another two weeks,” Sera says evenly. “He can continue conditioning and movement training, but no bag work or mitt drills. June twenty-fifth is simply too soon.”

Nakahara follows without embellishment. “He can train. But not the way a champion should prepare for a mandatory defense. Rushing him now risks repeating Melbourne.”

Sera takes over again, voice steady but careful. “In terms of the purse bid, we can realistically offer up to USD 120,000. Beyond that, we risk not being able to properly host the event afterward.”

He then changes the slide. “We’ve approached local promoters. So far, none have shown interest in joining the bid. If the Thai promoters win, they are very likely to force the bout on June 25th, in Bangkok. Under that scenario, Ryoma won’t have enough time to prepare properly.”

Throughout it all, Fujimoto says nothing.

Mika Aoyama keeps reading, pen tapping lightly as she studies Nakahara’s projected expenditures.

Kaito finally speaks, glancing up from his tablet. “USD 120,000 won’t be enough. Based on our information, they’re prepared to go higher.”

He pauses, choosing his words. “There are rumors they’re underestimating your gym because of its size. That might lower bids from neutral parties.”

His gaze shifts to Ryoma. “But not from your opponent’s side. They want this badly. They want you in the ring before you’re ready.”

Ryoma nods once. “I expect that. But I’ll fight at my best. I’ll protect Aqualis’s brand, and I’ll win if it’s within my power.”

Kaito doesn’t challenge him. Instead, he glances toward Fujimoto, waiting.

Fujimoto finally looks up. His expression isn’t calm, just controlled, serious in a way that makes the room feel smaller.

“I’ve never doubted you could win,” he says. “But for this fight, winning alone isn’t enough.”

Nakahara and Sera exchange a glance, then refocus their attention back to Fujimoto, careful not to interrupt.

“Takeda-kun,” Fujimoto continues, “you are the face of Aqualis Labs now. And we will not allow our brand ambassador to be embarrassed overseas again due to poor preparation.”

He leans forward slightly. “Even securing the bid isn’t sufficient. We intend to make a statement, one strong enough that they stop underestimating you, and stop underestimating this gym.”

Nakahara hesitates. “Fujimoto-san…?”

“Aqualis will cover the entire purse bid,” Fujimoto says calmly. “We will treat it as advertising expenditure.”

Nakahara swallows hard. Only now does he realize this isn’t just corporate concern, but something personal, that Fujimoto himself feels insulted by how Ryoma has been treated.

“Your responsibility,” Fujimoto continues, “is to organize the event. Use your own funds for operations. Secure the best arena in Japan. Arrange compelling undercard fights. Show the industry that Nakahara Gym deserves to stand at the center of attention.”

For the first time since the purse bid became inevitable, the weight on the table isn’t fear. It is expectation, heavy with intent, money already promised, and a challenge demanding an answer rather than an excuse.