VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

As the office door opens, a subtle shift ripples through the gym. Ryohei freezes mid-motion while Okabe stiffens beside him, both of them still carrying the residue of laughter in their bellies but forcing it down as their instincts warn them to behave.

Maria steps out first with a controlled expression that looks polished but brittle. Reika follows just behind her, posture straight and restrained in a way that makes it painfully clear she is not in the mood to endure anyone’s joke.

The tension stretches until coincidence intervenes with cruel timing. The locker room door slides open just as Reika nears the front. She stops instinctively, turning her head as if pulled by a thread she never meant to hold.

Ryoma stands in the doorway, sweat still clinging to his skin, his expression flat and detached, offering neither acknowledgment nor rejection, only the impression that her presence is irrelevant at best.

To Reika, it feels worse than indifference, because his stillness reads like expectation, as though he is simply waiting for her to be gone.

Something fractures quietly inside her chest. But she does not allow it to surface on her face.

“Reika…” Maria calls from outside. “We leave.”

Reika hears it clearly. But she turns fully toward Ryoma, lowering herself into a bow that is deep, brief, and painfully formal.

Once straightens, she walks out of the gym with measured steps that refuse to betray the damage she carries with her.

Ryohei glances sideways at Okabe, and Okabe meets the look with wide eyes and a grin he is barely restraining. They drift toward the window, pressing close enough to peer outside just in time to watch the black Lexus glide away from the curb with quiet authority.

The moment the car disappears from sight, restraint collapses.

Gyaahahahaaa!!!

Ryohei throws his head back as laughter bursts free from his chest, while Okabe clutches his stomach and nearly doubles over.

“Man, that bow was dangerous. I felt it from here.”

“And he didn’t even blink. That’s lethal control.”

Before the moment can spiral further, a sharp clap cuts through the gym.

“That’s enough,” Sera says. “Back to training. Now.”

His gaze fixes on Ryohei with surgical precision, his voice lowering as the weight of the reminder settles in.

“Your title fight is in two weeks, Ryohei. If you still have energy to laugh, you’re not working hard enough. Better you cry here than cry in the ring when it actually counts.”

Ryohei swallows hard. “Yes, sir.”

Sera turns away and starts toward Nakahara’s office, already shifting his attention back to priorities that do not include their antics.

“Hiroshi,” he says without slowing, “Run them until they don’t have the strength to smile.”

Hiroshi nods once, already moving to reset the pace of the session.

Sera enters the office, closes the door behind him, and locks it with a decisive click that signals his intent to be undisturbed.

But then, the handle turns from the outside and fails, followed by a knock that lands with quiet persistence.

Sera opens the door with irritation already forming on his face.

“I said get back to training…”

He stops when he sees Ryoma standing there.

Sera exhales slowly, steps aside, and opens the door wider as he gestures Ryoma inside without another word.

After Ryoma enters, Sera closes the door again and locks it, sealing the room from the noise still lingering beyond the walls.

***

Meanwhile, Nakahara remains seated behind his desk, posture relaxed but his attention fully absorbed as he reviews the proposal Maria has left behind.

Sera steps further inside, his eyes immediately going to the spread of documents as he breaks the silence with a single clipped question.

“So…?”

Nakahara exhales through his nose. “So… they came offering production at forty million yen.”

Sera scans the paperwork with growing intensity, his professional instincts firing the moment he recognizes the scale of what he is seeing.

The more pages he turns, the more his expression tightens, because this is not bargain-bin production or domestic filler content. This is a full-scale setup designed for world title fights, the kind of visual spectacle tailored for HBO-level broadcasting and global syndication.

Sera swallows and straightens. “For production at this level, forty million is actually cheap,” he says carefully. “The problem is, we’re not exactly swimming in cash right now.”

“Well, I declined it,” Nakahara says casually, a chuckle slipping out as he reaches for another folder. “Then Logan’s daughter cut the price to thirty million.”

“Thirty million?” Sera’s eyes widen. “You’re joking, right?”

Nakahara’s amusement lingers as he gathers the papers into a neat stack. “I was surprised myself,” he replies. “That’s what happens when you let a green girl hold the reins of a company as large as NSN.”

His gaze shifts toward Ryoma, sharp and assessing. “And you understand why she did it, don’t you? You’re not a naïve kid anymore. She didn’t do this on Logan’s behalf. That was impulse, pure and simple, from a girl drunk on affection.”

“I know,” Ryoma answers evenly. “That doesn’t mean I can just accept it. Especially not by exploiting her naivety for something like this. Logan Rhodes would kill me.”

Nakahara chuckles again and finishes organizing the documents, sliding them into alignment as silence settles briefly over the room, heavy but not uncomfortable.

Sera pulls out a chair and sits across from Nakahara, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the desk.

“So what now?” he asks. “After she dropped the price that far, are you taking it?”

Nakahara does not answer immediately. He chuckles, and instead turns the question toward Ryoma.

“Well, kid? Should I take the offer?”

Ryoma does not respond right away. He walks over to the sofa and lowers himself onto it. His posture folds inward as he lets the weight of the decision press against him from both sides.

On one hand, he wants nothing to do with Logan Rhodes ever again. Even the faintest thread connecting him back to that man sets his nerves on edge.

On the other hand, he understands exactly how much this deal would ease Nakahara’s burden. And he knows better than anyone what NSN’s production quality could do for the gym’s visibility and financial stability.

Sera, growing impatient with the silence, voices his thoughts without restraint.

“This is a rare opportunity,” he says firmly. “The image of this gym changes overnight once the world sees Ryoma fighting on a stage like this, broadcast globally with Vegas-level production.”

“And we’re back to dealing with Logan Rhodes,” Nakahara interjects calmly.

“So what?” Sera presses. “This isn’t like before. We’re not under his control. We unbundle the contracts, split everything into segments, and keep our leverage spread out so no single company controls the entire event. Hiring NSN’s production team alone doesn’t put us under Logan’s thumb.”

“But I don’t believe he has any idea what price his daughter offered us,” Nakahara says. “And the moment Logan learns that NSN extended a deal this generous, and that we actually accepted it…”

“Let him be angry at his own daughter,” Sera presses. “That has nothing to do with us. For once, let us be the ones who play them.”

Ryoma exhales slowly, his voice heavy when he finally speaks. “Playing them by taking advantage of a girl blinded by her feelings? Sorry but… I don’t feel comfortable with that idea.”

After a moment of silence, Ryoma rises from the sofa and walks toward the door with measured restraint, his posture calm but his expression unreadable.

“I’ll leave it to you,” he says as he opens the door. “Whatever choice you make, just don’t say it was my idea.”

The door closes behind him, and the room feels noticeably smaller in his absence.

Sera turns back toward the desk, ready to speak. But Nakahara’s face has already changed, the last traces of amusement gone as he reaches for the phone.

“I’ll call Kazuhiro first,” Nakahara says. “I want his take on this.”

The line connects after a short wait, and Kazuhiro from Kōwa Sports Marketing answers from the other end.

Nakahara explains the situation concisely, mentioning only the essentials: thirty million yen, NSN, and Vegas-level production.

There is a brief pause, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

[Thirty million? For NSN production?]

“Yes,” Nakahara replies.

[Then take it.]

Nakahara remains silent.

[You understand what this means? NSN’s production standard is recognized worldwide. Once their name is attached, this event is no longer just another title fight. It becomes a global product.]

Sera shifts closer, listening intently.

[Sponsors won’t wait for us to knock. They will come on their own. International brands, foreign broadcasters, secondary rights buyers… they will line up. The broadcast rights alone could outweigh every concern you have right now.]

Nakahara closes his eyes briefly, the phone pressed to his ear as Kazuhiro continues speaking animatedly.

[This pushes our marketing into a completely different tier. We’re talking about visibility on a world scale. Ryoma won’t just be a regional champion on paper. He’ll look like one of those world champions on screen. That perception matters more than people admit.]

“And the risk?” Nakahara asks quietly.

[Set the risk aside for a moment. Vegas-level production at that price doesn’t come twice. I can’t say what’s driving them to go this low. Maybe your past partnership still carries weight, or goodwill… who knows? But if we let this slip, the momentum you’ve built may not come back.]

The line falls quiet, leaving Nakahara staring at the desk as the weight of the decision settles fully onto his shoulders.