VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Inside, the conference room has been arranged with efficiency rather than comfort in mind. Its layout resembles an auction hall more than a meeting space.

Rows of chairs face a narrow desk positioned at the front, where OPBF and JBC officials are already seated with aligned documents.

The arrangement leaves little room for casual conversation, as each camp is meant to observe, calculate, and wait rather than negotiate openly.

Four Thai promotional groups have already taken their places along the right side of the room, occupying separate clusters that reflect rivalry rather than cooperation.

Each group consists of promoters, managers, and legal counsel, with assistants positioned slightly behind them like silent extensions of authority.

When Nakahara Gym enters, the shift in attention is immediate. Heads turn first toward Ryoma, whose presence draws instinctive recognition.

“That’s him?” one of them murmurs.

“He looks much younger up close,” another replies quietly. “Face is soft like teenagers’. Not what I imagined.”

A third man scoffs under his breath. “This kid broke Jade McConnel? Hard to believe.”

Victor Pongchai hears the comments and keeps his gaze forward, choosing not to react.But then a different voice slips through with hesitation rather than mockery, enough to steal his attention.

“…Wait. Isn’t that Fujimoto, the one from Aqualis Labs?”

“What’s he doing here?”

Victor turns his head at that, eyes narrowing slightly as he follows their line of sight.

“So that old man is Aqualis’s president?” he asks, almost to himself.

One of his team nods. “Ah, that’s right. I heard Ryoma Takeda is their main ambassador.”

Victor lets out a quiet chuckle. “So they dragged him in to prop up their bid. Did they really think a sponsor president will save them?”

He shakes his head slightly. “A company like that won’t burn cash just to babysit a small gym.”

Nakahara notices the attention. But without discussion, he leads his group toward seats on the opposite side of the room, far from the Thai contingents and separated by an uncomfortable stretch of empty chairs.

The physical distance reinforces the reality that they are the only Japanese camp present, an isolation that feels heavier indoors than it did outside.

Ryoma senses the weight of it as he sits, the space around them feeling less like neutrality and more like exposure.

Moments later, movement near the entrance draws quiet attention as Chao Phraya Elite Boxing Promotion arrives together. They immediately scan the room with practiced caution.

Lawson’s gaze sharpens as he spots a familiar figure. He leans subtly toward Anurak as he murmurs a quiet observation.

“Look who’s over there.”

Victor Pongchai has already noticed them. He rises from his seat, expression polite and open as Anurak steps toward him.

“So you came,” Anurak says casually.

“An opportunity like this is too big to ignore,” Victor replies. “Just don’t be mad at me if I beat your bid.”

“I don’t mind if you win,” Anurak says, his tone even. “Just don’t ruin my plan.”

Victor smiles. “Relax. We all want the same thing. Bangkok. June twenty-fifth.”

The brief exchange confirms what the room already knows, as both men represent the largest promotional forces in Thailand and stand as competitors rather than allies.

Anurak returns to his seat with his group positioned slightly apart, close enough for continued conversation, but distant enough to preserve independence.

Lawson leans toward the lawyer, and their voices drop to a whisper that carries intent rather than secrecy. As they speak, the lawyer opens his bag and removes an envelope, replacing it with another from Lawson’s hand in a smooth motion.

Ryoma notices the exchange instantly, his attention sharpening despite the lack of audible context. He cannot follow the Thai language, but one phrase cuts through clearly when the lawyer switches briefly to English.

[…Plan B. Better make it higher.]

The system also speaks inside Ryoma’s head.

>

>

Ryoma’s gaze shifts toward Nakahara, who is staring toward the entrance with an unsettled expression that mirrors his own unease.

“Where is he?” Nakahara mutters, almost to himself.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Kaito asks.

Nakahara nods. “Ogawa. The lawyer.”

When Ogawa finally enters, slightly breathless and visibly apologetic, Nakahara waves him over without reproach and gestures for him to sit.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Ogawa says, bowing slightly. “Traffic was heavier than expected.”

Nakahara shakes his head. “You’re fine. It hasn’t started yet.”

Ogawa sits and opens his briefcase, taking out a single envelope and setting it on the table.

“This is the bid document,” he says. “Finalized.”

Nakahara exhales once. “Alright.”

Ryoma recognizes the finality of it at once, as there is no replacement envelope, no alternative prepared.

The contrast settles heavily in his chest, as he realizes that their camp has arrived with honesty rather than strategy, and commitment rather than flexibility.

They have only one bid, one number, and no adjustment waiting in reserve.

***

Moments later, the chairman enters the room with his staff, offering polite greetings as he takes his position at the front. The atmosphere tightens into something official and procedural.

Before the chairman can begin, movement near the entrance draws attention once again.

Reika Fujimori, the daughter of NSN owner, steps inside.

The Thai camps notice, but dismiss her presence almost immediately. But Ryoma does not look away so easily, nor do Nakahara or Sera, as recognition sharpens into suspicion.

“What is she doing here?” Sera mutters.

“Don’t tell me Logan is involved,” Nakahara adds.

Fujimoto turns slightly. “Who is she?”

“Logan Rhodes’s daughter,” Kaito answers quietly.

Fujimoto raises an eyebrow. “Logan from NSN?”

Reika senses the gaze immediately. Ryoma’s eyes are sharp and unyielding, and the cold in them hurts more than she expected, even though she knew it was coming.

She looks away first, steadying herself, reminding herself that this room is not for explanations.

***

Moments later, one of the OPBF officials glances at his watch, then raise a hand toward a staffer near the entrance.

“Close the doors, please,” he says quietly. “We’re about to begin.”

Reika notices it. She immediately turns back toward the doorway and calls out in English, her tone clipped with urgency.

“Jake. Be quick! They are going to start it.”

A man answers her before he fully appears, his voice relaxed to the point of irritation.

“Easy, Reika. They’re not going anywhere without the money.”

He steps through the doorway with an unhurried stride, flanked by two massive Western bodyguards whose size alone signals his status.

His present commands the room without effort, his tall frame and calm confidence shifting the atmosphere instantly.

He has light hair, sharp features, and the composed presence of someone accustomed to shaping events rather than responding to them.

It’s Jackson Rhodes, 29 years old, Logan’s son, Reika’s half brother.

Recognition doesn’t spread evenly, but it spreads fast where it matters.

The Thai promoters straighten in their seats, expressions tightening. Several OPBF officials exchange glances that linger a moment too long to be casual.

Jackson Rhodes is not an unfamiliar name to people who move money and fighters. He is the CEO of NSN Global Combat, a promotion company that routinely stages world-title events, cross-continental cards, and pay-per-view spectacles on a scale most regional bodies never touch.

He doesn’t attend OPBF purse bids by accident, and his presence alone quietly reframes what this room is actually hosting.

Ryoma doesn’t recognize the man, but he feels the change immediately, a quiet tightening in the room that tells him the purse bid has already taken on a different weight.

Jackson moves almost immediately. He does not pause to acknowledge the officials, nor does he wait for introductions or signals.

He walks straight toward Ryoma as if the room has already been sorted in his mind. And that alone feels wrong to everyone watching

A smile forms with open recognition as he stops in front of Ryoma, and reaches out his hand without hesitation.

“At last,” Jackson says in English, voice calm and confident, “I finally get to meet you face to face. Ryoma Takeda.“