VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Thanid’s eyes narrow as he adjusts his stance again and again, searching for the perfect angle to strike. Every step forward feels cautious, calculated, yet nothing seems quite right.

Ryoma, meanwhile, lets his dominant right hand dictate the pace. It isn’t as light or as fast as his left, but the weight behind each stiff jab and hook carries undeniable force.

Dug. Dug. Dsh!

Dug. Dug.

Dug. Thud! Dug.

Every punch lands with intention, a reminder that control does not always require speed.

Thanid finally throws a compact jab followed by a lead hook, hoping to snap Ryoma off balance. But the angles are wrong.

Ryoma pivots smoothly, sidestepping the line, and suddenly his lead hook lands cleanly on Thanid’s exposed left ribs.

Thud!

The punch sinks deep. It’s heavier, sharper, and far easier to place than anything Ryoma delivered before.

“Whoa!” the lead commentator shouts. “That’s a clean shot right to the body! Ryoma’s not just switching stances. He’s controlling the fight!”

The analyst leans forward, voice low but intense. “Notice the precision. He’s using his right hand to manipulate space and timing. Thanid’s rhythm is completely broken here.”

For Thanid, the moment is humbling. At 25, with only 11 professional boxing bouts, he’s fought plenty of kickboxers and muaythai fighters who favored switching stances, but boxing isn’t the same as kickboxing and muaythai.

The urge to sweep his right leg, to reach for Ryoma’s head, is so strong. But he knows rules forbid it. This is his first fight against a southpaw in boxing. And only now does he fully grasp how complicated it is.

He tries throws a jab again. Ryoma simply knocks the glove down with his left, and counter with a stiff right jab.

Dhs!

As Thanid reels from the hit, a thought creeps in: Would facing someone like Jade McConnel, who can switch at will, be even more troublesome?

***

Thanid tightens his guard, shoulders hunched, elbows tucked close. Every punch from Ryoma’s right hand glances off his forearms or meets the compact wall of his defense. He shifts slightly with each jab, angling just enough to prevent anything from reaching his head.

Ryoma presses on steadily, right hand snapping out like clockwork. Each jab carries the familiar weight, enough to probe, measure, and control, but nothing thrown to overexert.

His rhythm swings lazily with the pendulum beat, moving him subtly toward his right, keeping the challenger dancing.

After landing another crisp right snapping against Thanid’s temple, Ryoma’s pressure forces the challenger to lift his guard slightly higher.

Then, almost without warning, Ryoma lets his rear left slip through, a controlled twist of the hips, a compact drive aimed squarely at the midsection.

Bugh!

The blow lands clean enough to draw a sharp exhale from Thanid, his eyes flicking downward for a fraction of a second. The crowd murmurs at the subtle impact. The commentators pick up immediately.

“Did you see that?” the lead commentator asks. “Ryoma… he just used the left! After all this time!”

“Interesting,” the analyst replies. “But notice the force… he didn’t commit fully. Maybe that left hand really isn’t 100%.”

Thanid shrugs it off, still standing solid, no grimace beyond a subtle shift in his torso.

Ryoma resets seamlessly. Right hand resumes its rhythm, jabs probing with measured intensity. That brief left-hand dig had been a test, a quiet confirmation that his knuckle wasn’t as badly injured as he feared.

No pain flares this time; the strike landed clean enough to reassure him he could shift back to orthodox and fight normally.

But as he watches Thanid struggle with his southpaw stance, Ryoma decides to keep the stance, letting his right hand control the fight while the left remains ready, a silent threat waiting in the rear.

Ryoma steps lightly to his right. He only jabs occasionally without overextending, isn’t chasing a finish. Thanid is too cautious now, so Ryoma stays calm, steadying his breath while probing with one jab and a few side steps.

Thanid anchors himself in the center with a tight guard, covering chin and flanks, stalking Ryoma steadily. Only when he sees Ryoma narrow his path toward a corner does he step deeper, snapping a sharp one-two.

But Ryoma barely shifts; a half step to the right as a decoy, then glides smoothly in the opposite direction, flicking out two stiff jabs.

Dsh! Dsh!

“Look at him!” the lead commentator beams. “Ryoma’s moving Thanid around like a puppet. He’s toyed with him completely!”

The steady rhythm last quite long, making the fight looks so one-sided. At least when it comes to the last ten second, Kiet calls out from the blue corner.

“What are you doing Thanid. Stop admiring his right. Tighten your guard and step in deep!”

Thanid follows the instruction, stepping in behind two sharp jabs.

Dug. Dug.

But before he can fire a straight right, his left foot catches Ryoma’s lead foot. It’s a small misstep, common when facing a southpaw, especially for someone who’s never trained for this scenario.

“Whoa! Did you see that?” Lead commentator picks up. “His foot caught, and…”

Thanid’s balance falters, and Ryoma isn’t wasting that opening, sending a sharp one-two straight on the face.

Dsh! Dsh!

“Ryoma’s hitting him like a hammer now,” the commentator continues.

“That’s textbook exploitation,” the analyst adds. “One tiny stumble and… wait, wait…”

Thanid swings his body to the side due to terrible balance, and eventually hits his hips on the canvas.

But he immediately gets up as soon as the ref steps in.

Down!

“Unbelievable!”

the lead commentator shouts. “Thanid goes down just from losing his footing. Ryoma’s one-two did all the work!”

The fight resumes without the referee needing to pause it for long. But it’s just a continuation of the same one-sided scenario.

Ryoma circles effortlessly, popping out measured right jabs, while Thanid is forced into constant defense, waiting for the bell, hoping Kiet will offer some solution.

Only five seconds remain before the bell, yet it’s long enough for Thanid to look inexperienced on the international stage. Those who had earlier judged him world-class begin quietly recalibrating their assessment.

Finally…

Ding!

The third round ends.

Ryoma drops his gloves and strolls toward his corner, passing Thanid on the way. He leans slightly, voice teasing but calm.

“You should stick to kickboxing,” he says casually. “You box like a total amateur.”

Thanid stops mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. His jaw tightens, pride as a kickboxing world champion bruised by Ryoma’s words.

Anger surges, and for a brief moment he feels the urge to slam Ryoma’s head from behind. But the referee’s calm voice cuts through the heat.

“Thanid! It’s the bell. Go back to your corner.”

Thanid exhales sharply, forcing himself to rein in the rage. Slowly, he walks back toward his corner. Kiet is already waiting, irritation flaring across his face, watching his fighter return battered by both the fight and his own bruised pride.

Thanid sinks onto the stool, chest heaving. His gloves rest on his thighs, yet his gaze never wavers from Ryoma across the ring, anger coiling beneath the surface.

Kiet leans forward, hands resting on his knees, expression a mix of irritation and concern. “This southpaw stance… I knew you’d have trouble with it when we were preparing for Jade McConnel.”

Thanid frowns, wiping sweat from his brow. “But the fight never happened. That kid beat him first. And now he’s using it too, the southpaw. So how should I approach this?”

Kiet exhales slowly. “You never trained for it directly, so it’s tricky. For now, just stick to the fundamentals. Close the distance, keep your lead shoulder low and tight, cut off the ring, force him toward the ropes. Don’t overcommit. Watch the right hand, it’s still his dominant weapon. Keep your rear hand ready for counters.”

Thanid nods slowly. He clenches his gloves, posture tensing. Even if he’s unsure about how Ryoma will react, he knows he has to execute Kiet’s plan perfectly.

“And remember the original plan,” Kiet continues. “His left hand’s already compromised. Now force him to risk breaking that right hand too. Every committed strike he throws is a chance to trap him.”

Thanid’s eyes narrow with resolve. “Force him to work into my guard. And the moment he overreaches, I punish.”

Kiet nods. “Exactly. Don’t rush. Step in at the right angle, control distance, and make him hit solid. If his right goes, he’s done for. Southpaw, orthodox… it doesn’t matter anymore.”