VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The reaction is instant and uneven. Several promoters stiffen in their seats, lawyers stop writing, and a low tension spreads through the room as the implication takes shape.

A man like Jackson Rhodes does not cross a room like this unless the target matters. And the thought presses down on everyone who came expecting a smaller fight.

Ryoma stands at last, but he does not accept the handshake. His hands remain in the pockets of his tracksuit, his posture guarded rather than rude.

His eyes sharpen, instincts flare with the same cold warning he felt around Logan Rhodes, the unmistakable presence of someone who operates like a shark beneath calm water.

Without blinking, he speaks in English, his tone flat and unwelcoming.

“Do I know you?”

Jackson lifts an eyebrow in mild surprise, clearly unaccustomed to being met with confusion rather than recognition.

But before he can answer, Sera leans closer to Ryoma, and lowers his voice, choosing English with care.

“He’s the CEO of NSN Global Combat,” Sera says. “Jackson Rhodes.”

Ryoma shifts his gaze briefly, processing the name.

“Rhodes?” he mutters.

Sera nods once, then switches back to Japanese. “Honestly, he’s more famous than his father at this point. That’s the only reason I know him better than Logan Rhodes himself.”

Ryoma looks back at Jackson, whose smile has widened slightly in a way that suggests amusement rather than offense.

Jackson does not understand the Japanese exchange. But he understands enough to read the situation. The champion in front of him does not recognize his face, but someone nearby clearly does, and that recognition has altered the room’s posture already.

“Like your coach said, I’m Jackson Rhodes,” Jackson says, keeping his hand extended a moment longer than necessary. “It would be better for you to learn who I am, because I might be the only person here who can actually save your career.

“

Ryoma does not move. Instead of shaking the hand, he dips his head slightly in a restrained bow, using formality as a shield rather than a bridge.

“Oh, Japanese courtesy?” Jackson says with a short laugh, finally lowering his hand.

He lifts his chin in response rather than returning the bow, clearly deciding that the exchange does not require further ceremony.

Ryoma’s attention shifts past him toward Reika. She stiffens, straightens, and then bows deeply, holding the position with visible sincerity rather than performance.

“I know I caused you trouble,” she says, her voice steady but strained. “I acted without understanding the consequences, and I hurt people because of that. I’m truly sorry. Please allow me to make amends.”

Ryoma remains silent, and Reika continues bowing, waiting without movement or protest.

Meanwhile, Jackson watches the exchange with open confusion, clearly unfamiliar with both the language and the weight of the gesture unfolding in front of him.

“Oi, Reika, that’s enough,” Jackson says quietly. “Is this really how things work here?”

The moment turns into a quiet spectacle, with the room’s attention settling on Reika alone. No one speaks, and no one understands the situation clearly, as they wait for her to raise her head.

The OPBF officials had already indicated that the bidding was about to begin, but none of them interrupts. With Jackson Rhodes standing at the center of the room, the uncertainty holds their hands.

Aware of the attention pressing in from all sides, Ryoma exhales once, and finally speaks.

“That’s enough,” he says. “You haven’t actually done any damage.”

Reika straightens immediately, relief washing over her face, though Ryoma’s expression remains cold and distant.

“I was irritated because you didn’t respect my space,” he continues. “If you can respect that from now on, then I don’t have a problem with you.”

Reika bows again, this time briefly. “I understand.”

Ryoma studies her for a moment longer, and then narrows his eyes. “Now explain why you’re here. Don’t tell me you came to apologize and then ruin my career again.”

“No,” she says quickly, lifting both hands in denial. “That’s not what I want. I came because I don’t think you can win this purse bid, and if you lose it, you’ll be forced to fight overseas with poor preparation again. I want to prevent that.”

Ryoma’s expression tightens. “By joining the bid? And steal this fight from me?”

“That’s not it,” she replies calmly. “If I win the bid, I won’t touch the event itself. You and your gym will handle everything. My only condition is that the fight stays in Tokyo, and that you get the preparation you deserve.”

Ryoma does not respond immediately. His gaze shifts back to Jackson, and the distrust there remains unsoftened.

“That’s why I came with my brother,” Reika adds in English. “My father is still in America, and he won’t be back anytime soon. Jackson will help me handle the bidding.”

One of the OPBF officials, who has edged closer during the exchange, clears his throat politely.

“Excuse me, Mr. Rhodes,” the official says. “Are you formally entering the bid today?”

Jackson smiles and turns slightly so his voice carries across the room. “Yes, I am. Ryoma Takeda is a global-level attraction now. With the story surrounding this title defense, the upside is obvious. Anyone who ignores that is wasting an opportunity.”

The official nods and gestures toward an open seat. Jackson motions for his bodyguards to remain standing as he sits, with Reika taking the chair beside him. The bodyguards position themselves behind, their presence alone drawing murmurs from the Thai camps.

Whispers begin immediately. The Thai promoters lean together amongst their respective team, voices sharp with irritation and calculation.

Ryoma also notices the lawyer from Thanid’s camp leaning close to Anurak, speaking urgently in Thai.

“Sir, our plan won’t work anymore,” the lawyer says. “If we want to win this, we need to raise the bid.”

“Did you prepare another document?” Anurak asks.

The lawyer nods. “Yes.”

“How much?”

The lawyer whispers the number, and Anurak’s eyes widen in visible discomfort. He hesitates, and then exhales slowly before giving a nod.

“Do it.”

The lawyer nods. He retrieves the previous envelope from Lawson and replaces it with another.

Ryoma finally takes his seat and leans toward Nakahara and Sera. “This is bad,” he says quietly. “They’re preparing to outbid everyone just to beat her. That will make them bid even higher.”

Nakahara and Sera understand immediately. Neither of them speaks, but the strain shows plainly on their faces as the situation catches up with them.

Even with Aqualis backing them, the figure sealed inside their envelope is no longer enough to win this bid.

What unsettles them most is the realization that they came here with no flexibility at all, only a single document, a fix printed number, committed in advance, with no room left for adjustment.

***

Moments later, the chairman straightens the papers in front of him and speaks with a voice trained to carry authority without emotion.

“The OPBF hereby confirms the eligible parties for today’s purse bid,” he says. “Nakahara Boxing Gym. Chao Phraya Elite Boxing Promotion. NSN Global Combat. Golden Naga Fight Consortium. Siam Crown Boxing, Mekong Warrior Promotions. And Rajadamnern Global Sports.”

He pauses briefly, then continues. “The approved bout window is June 25th through August 24th. The purse split will be 70% to the champion, 30 % to the challenger.”

The chairman gestures to the staffer standing beside him. “Please collect the bids.”

The staffer moves first toward the Thai side of the room. The first envelope is handed over without ceremony.

As the promoter sits back down, he mutters under his breath, “We came here for nothing.”

The second camp follows just as quietly. Their lawyer hesitates for a fraction of a second before releasing the envelope, his jaw tightening as if the number inside already feels insufficient. The third submission comes with a sigh that is not entirely hidden.

“I never thought someone like Jackson Rhodes would show up for this,” one of them whispers as the folder closes.

Both Anurak and Victor submit their bids with measured confidence, each of them allowing a brief glance toward Jackson, open and unapologetic in its challenge.

By the time the staffer finishes collecting from the Thai side, the room has already absorbed the mood. He turns and then walks toward the opposite side of the room.

Reika straightens as the staffer stops before her. Her fingers close around her folder, ready to hand the sealed envelope. But suddenly, Jackson holds her wrist.

“Hold on.”

The movement is controlled, almost gentle, but it cuts through the room like a blade.

The staffer halts mid-step. The chairman lifts his head. Even the promoters who had already resigned themselves to defeat look up.

Reika turns sharply, confusion breaking across her face. “Jackson?”

Jackson does not raise his voice. “We’re done.”

The chairman leans forward slightly, careful not to sound confrontational. “Mr. Rhodes. Are you withdrawing from the bid?”

Jackson nods once. “Nexus Sport Network forfeits.”

The silence that follows does not feel empty. It feels recalculated.

Lawyers lean closer to their clients. Promoters shift in their seats, already reworking numbers that were supposed to be final.

“The withdrawal is noted,” the chairman says. “Nexus Sport Network will not be considered.”

Jackson releases Reika’s wrist and sits down without another word. Reika follows him, her jaw tight, hands folded together in her lap.

Across the room, Ryoma does not move. But something inside him tightens, sharp and immediate.

Now he understands, Jackson never intended to submit a bid. His presence alone was meant to tilt the room and force everyone else to move their numbers.

The man simply walks in, sits down, and makes everyone else panic.