VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Aramaki feels the sting along his cheek. His guard twitches slightly. The jab reminds him that even fighting his usual way isn’t enough. That first-round caution now looks naive.

Across the ring, Rikiya maintains distance, sliding in tiny lateral steps while observing.

He’s back to his old style.

So what was that awkward first round?

Don’t tell me he’s under pressure.

The thought lingers. Convinced enough, Rikiya decides to test it. He cuts the distance, meeting Aramaki at mid-range, inviting another exchange.

Let’s build some damage while he’s still unsettled.

He shifts up a gear, increasing pressure. Jab after jab meets Aramaki’s gloves.

Dug. Dug.

Then he pivots slightly, bends his left knee, and throws a quick jab–lead hook combination.

Aramaki tightens his guard, but can only react to the first jab. The lead hook lands clean on the side of his body, under the armpit.

Dug. Thud!

Aramaki drops his right glove to throw a hook, but Rikiya immediately steps back.

The hook cuts only empty air. And Rikiya counters with another lead hook to the body.

Bugh!

A cross follows, but Aramaki’s guard absorbs it.

Dug.

Having enough, Rikiya steps out again, reestablishing safe distance.

“That was sharp from Miyamoto,” the first commentator says, leaning forward. “He reads the distance perfectly and punishes immediately. Aramaki can’t even get his own hooks off cleanly.”

The analyst nods. “Look at the gap. Aramaki wants to fight his usual mid-range game, but Rikiya’s spacing and timing are denying him every opportunity. One jab, one hook, and Aramaki is forced to reset. That’s a big difference in control.”

“Exactly,” the first continues. “Even when Aramaki reacts well, he’s always one step behind the tempo. Rikiya doesn’t just defend. He positions, anticipates, and counters without overcommitting.”

“And notice how Rikiya adjusts on the fly,” the analyst adds. “Tiny lateral steps, just enough to test Aramaki, probing for weaknesses. He’s patient, but every action carries consequence. Aramaki is fast, sharp, but this isn’t a sparring session. The former champion is teaching him that.”

The first commentator chuckles softly. “It’s almost a chess match at times. One wrong move, one misread distance, and you pay immediately. Round two is already showing why these two are ranked where they are.”

***

The fight continues with the same intensity, but Aramaki cannot land a single clean hit. Every step forward, every attempt to probe, is met by Rikiya’s precision, his spacing just out of reach. Each time Aramaki throws, Rikiya reads, adjusts, and resets.

By the third round, it’s even clearer. Rikiya begins to understand the limits of Aramaki’s style, the one-dimensional tendency in his attacks.

Whenever Rikiya shifts laterally, Aramaki resets first, angles himself, and charges in a straight line. His pivots remain sharp, but lack fluidity; the creativity that might have unsettled a cautious opponent is absent.

Rikiya picks apart each advance. One clean blow lands, then he steps out calmly, shifts right, then left, slides the angle subtly.

Then he fires another combination: jab, jab, lead hook, using only his left, finding the opening that Aramaki leaves exposed.

Another clean hit. And again, the same method repeats, controlled, measured, and relentless.

“Aramaki is hunting, but he can’t find a single opening,” the first commentator observes, voice tense with disbelief. “Every punch he throws is anticipated, controlled, and countered. Rikiya is dictating the fight completely.”

The analyst leans forward, eyes fixed on the ring. “Watch how he shifts angles after every exchange, resets, and finds another clean shot. Patient, precise. Aramaki is strong, but he’s facing a former champion. Here, you need to bleed just to stay in the fight.”

“Every jab, every hook is measured,” the first continues. “Aramaki moves, yes, but only along one line. Rikiya reads him as if he’s opening a book. The dominance is visible, even in real time.”

Three rounds pass. Aramaki presses, probes, adjusts, but he finds nothing. Not one punch lands flush. Rikiya dictates distance, tempo, and opportunity.

The crowd murmurs at the precision, at the dominance, while the former champion’s composure never wavers.

Midway through the fourth round, after dominating for more than ten minutes, Rikiya feels a flicker of frustration. His gloves lower slightly, just enough to invite a rhythm break.

I thought he would be good enough to test my readiness before challenging Serrano.

Guess I was wrong.

I accepted that 800.000 yen expecting a real challenge… and found nothing.

Meanwhile, Aramaki senses the edge of the fight. His chance to win is narrow, maybe slipping through his fingers.

That’s when he decides to risk everything, to reveal what he’s been holding back for the crucial moment.

“Don’t think I came to this fight unprepared.”

He crouches low, shifting weight for a step-in, but instead throws a spearing jab. Straight, fast, and precise.

But Rikiya has seen this before from Aramaki’s previous fight. He parries easily and steps back. No issue at all.

Aramaki tries again, stepping deeper this time, aiming to trap Rikiya against the ropes. And then another spearing jab.

Rikiya leans to the ropes to create space, slides right, then shifts left with a smooth, wide step.

“No, I won’t fall for this.”

“Your attack is always too linear.”

“You can never catch me with this.”

Aramaki crouches once more, preparing another jab, but this time surprises with a sudden cobra shot from the rear using his right. Rikiya reacts, tilts his head, and throws a chopping right.

Aramaki straightens to avoid it, aiming for a step-back counter. Rikiya slips, pivots, and steps aside.

“Whoa! Look at that timing!” the first commentator shouts, voice rising. “Aramaki comes in with a rear strike, and Miyamoto reads it instantly!”

“Neither man connects!” the analyst adds, a note of awe in his tone. “That was inches apart. The precision, the speed… they’re dancing around each other’s instincts!”

The crowd leans forward as one. Murmurs of disbelief ripple through the lower bowl, some gasps, some quiet exclamations.

“Did you see that?!

“So close! Too close!”

But Rikiya doesn’t seem fazed. He lowers his guard slightly, shakes his head, and lets out a faint shrug, as if teasing Aramaki, like this is no challenge at all.

“Come on, kid. You won’t fool me with that cheap trick.”

“Did you see that?!” the first commentator blurts, voice almost rising into a shout. “He… he just shrugged it off! Like that punch didn’t exist!”

The analyst laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Aramaki fires a cobra shot. Even set a trap for a counter. And Rikiya… he literally teases him with a shrug. It’s absurd, and terrifying at the same time!”

Aramaki remains calm. He expected this. He knows he’s up against a champion, and respects the challenge.

He just continues mixing patterns, chaining spearing jabs, cobra shots, and close-range hooks. But nothing lands. Rikiya has studied him that thoroughly.

Two hooks strike Rikiya’s guard, absorbed cleanly. Rikiya even snaps a compact upper at Aramaki’s chin before stepping back.

“What’s wrong, kid? Is that all you’ve got?”

Aramaki keeps the rhythm, spear jab setting the stage, blending attacks that won him before this. And Rikiya keeps reading him one step ahead.

Until at one point, as Rikiya makes that smooth, wide side step, Aramaki chains his spearing jab with something he hasn’t used so far. From that crouching position, he suddenly leaps for a gazelle punch.

Rikiya sees the wild movement, the momentum, the long range.

“Damn kid… He’s still hiding something dangerous.”

He reads the set-up, but his instincts kick in first. Memories of Serrano’s gazelle punch flash, and he lowers his guard to protect his right side, the part that cost him his belt.

But Aramaki is not Serrano. His gazelle punch arcs diagonally from low to high, slicing through the side of Rikiya’s guard.

And lands on the base of his jaw.

BAM!!!

The arena gasps as one, a single, collective inhale that seems to freeze the air. Every eye in the crowd snaps toward the ring.

The margin is thin, but it lands perfectly. For the first time in this fight, Aramaki’s punch connects cleanly. And Rikiya hits the canvas.

“W-what…?!” the first commentator stammers, voice cracking in disbelief. “He… he actually… he actually landed it! Rikiya Miyamoto… down!”

The analyst leans forward, gripping the edge of the commentary table. “That… that was incredible timing and precision. After three rounds of being outboxed, Aramaki finds it. I… I did not see that coming!”