VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The red corner feels calmer compared to the tension brewing across the ring. Nakahara crouches in front of Ryoma as soon as he settles onto the stool. His sharp eyes sweep over the ring briefly before focusing on his fighter.

“Good work scoring that down,” he says.

Ryoma wipes the sweat from his brow and shakes his head slightly. “That guy is still very much fine. He’s quite durable. If the fight keeps going like this, I don’t think I can finish him before round seven.”

The words immediately remind everyone of something. Sera and Hiroshi exchange glances.

Nakahara’s face twitches with disbelief. “You’re still thinking about that stupid bet? Don’t joke around with me right now, kid. This is an OPBF title fight.”

He points a thumb toward the ring as if reminding Ryoma where they are. “You may have controlled the fight so far with your lead, but one mistake here could cost you the entire match.”

Sera leans closer, adding calmly, “And don’t forget what happened to your knuckles after the Jade McConnel fight. They’re clearly trying to exploit that weakness. There’s no need to rush for the finish.”

Nakahara nods in agreement. “Just stay with this pace. Build damage with measured strikes. If you happen to knock him down again, then maybe the referee will stop it with a technical knockout.”

Ryoma flicks his gaze toward the referee standing near the ropes. The look on his face immediately turns unimpressed.

“Hope that lousy ref to end it?” he mutters. “It won’t happen.”

“So be it,” Nakahara says flatly. “Then forget the bet with Ryohei. Just win this fight first and come back to me in one piece.”

“And then spend months being Ryohei’s lackey?” Ryoma scoffs. “Not a chance.”

Nakahara grits his teeth, anger quietly building inside him. For a moment he doesn’t even try to argue.

He truly thought Ryoma’s stubbornness had disappeared after the war he went through against Jade McConnel. Apparently he couldn’t have been more wrong.

The argument pauses for barely two seconds before Hiroshi hesitantly speaks up.

“Why… why don’t you try something like what Ryohei did in the Umemoto fight?” he suggests. “You don’t need full power. Just a punch that shakes the brain and…”

Ryoma exhales slowly. “It’s not that simple, Hiroshi. If this were Umemoto, I would’ve scored a dozen knockdowns by now.”

Sera shakes his head with a knowing smile, his expression almost amused. “You think Ryoma hasn’t tried? Lead hooks, uppercuts… we trained him to deliver punches on critical spots. Every boxer aims for those places. But he’s fighting a kickboxing world champion here.”

He gestures toward the opposite corner. “The fight looks one-sided, sure. But don’t dismiss Thanid Kouthai as an easy opponent. People forget how hard it is because Ryoma makes it look that way.”

Ryoma barely listens to the exchange. Instead, his gaze drifts toward the blue corner, quietly observing the discussion happening there. He can’t read Kiet Anurak’s lips since the man is facing away, but Thanid is still visible.

“Well… if I could freeze time,” Ryoma murmurs to himself, “even for just a second… everything would be easy.”

“Stop fantasizing,” Nakahara scoffs immediately. “Just focus on your right jab. Build damage slowly. That’s all you need.”

Ryoma blinks once, then suddenly tilts his head. “Oh… what if I actually can freeze time for him?”

Nakahara stares at him like he just heard the dumbest thing in the world. “And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

“Like a heart-break shot,” Ryoma says with a confident smirk.

Before Nakahara can respond, Hiroshi bursts into a quiet chuckle, looking even sillier than before.

“Yeah, maybe you can mess up his heartbeat for a moment,” he says. “But freezing time for your opponent? Come on. You’re not some manga protagonist. Even if you pull it off, you’d be lucky to shock him for half a second.”

Ryoma shrugs. “Then I’ll bet on that half second.”

“And I’m asking again,” Nakahara interrupts sharply, leaning closer. “How are you going to do it?”

“Of course with the corkscrew blow you taught me,” Ryoma replies. “Straight to the heart.”

Nakahara scoffs immediately. “Corkscrew blow? You know how obvious that punch is, right? You think Thanid will just stand there and let you drive a punch into his chest after seeing that wind-up?”

He crouches lower so their faces are nearly level. “Listen carefully. They’ve been trying to break your fists this entire fight. If he sees you setting up something as bold as a corkscrew punch, he’ll welcome it.”

Nakahara taps his own forearm. “With this.”

Then he taps his elbow. “Or worse, with the tip of this. Just like what happened to your left earlier.”

Ryoma blinks, imagining the scenario for a second. A full-power corkscrew blow, full rotation, full weight. His knuckle crashing straight into Thanid’s elbow. That’s the kind of disaster that could end the fight instantly.

“Ah, right… just like what happened to Date Eiji against Ricardo Martinez.”

Ryoma slowly shifts his gaze back to the blue corner again. This time he catches Thanid speaking clearly enough to read.

>

Ryoma’s expression changes slightly. Nakahara notices it and follows his line of sight.

“You’re reading his lips again,” he says with mild amusement. “So what did he say?”

“Well… yeah,” Ryoma admits. “He’s still aiming for that scenario where I force my way into his guard… and then…”

Nakahara pats his thigh sharply. “Listen, kid. I’ve followed plenty of your weird ideas before. But for this one, just forget it.”

“Coach Nakahara is right,” Sera adds calmly. “The result is unreliable, the risk is too high. And you’re not in a position to gamble like that. Just keep controlling the fight. Win this first.”

He shrugs and gives a deliberately silly chuckle. “And if you have to spend a few months being Ryohei’s lackey… then be patient about it.”

***

The easy mood in the red corner, highlighted by Sera’s casual shrug and chuckle, only reinforces the growing impression that this has become an easy night for the champion.

From a distance, it doesn’t look like a corner dealing with a dangerous fight anymore. They look comfortable.

Around the arena, people begin to pick up on it. The cameras linger briefly on the red corner, and the commentators notice it immediately.

“Well,” the lead commentator says carefully, “the champion’s corner looks… fairly composed right now.”

The analyst nods, choosing his words just as cautiously. “Ryoma has controlled most of the action so far,” he explains. “That knockdown at the end of the round certainly gave them confidence.”

The lead commentator clears his throat slightly. “Of course, that doesn’t mean the challenger is out of this fight,” he adds quickly. “Thanid Kouthai is a proven champion in another discipline. Fighters like him are always dangerous.”

“Absolutely,” the analyst agrees. “All it takes is one good adjustment. We’ve seen fights turn around many times before.”

Still, the tone carries a quiet implication that is difficult to hide, because across the ring, Thanid’s camp sees it much more clearly.

From their corner, the red team’s relaxed mood isn’t subtle at all. The smiles, the casual gestures, the calm posture, it’s all there, plain to see.

Kiet Anurak watches it with a stony expression. Thanid notices it too. Neither of them say anything about it. But the contempt in their faces is impossible to miss.

Then the official’s voice cuts cleanly through the lingering tension in the arena.

“Seconds out!”

The corner teams immediately step down from the apron.

Thanid rises from his stool, shoulders rolling once as he stands. The hatred in his eyes has only grown sharper since the end of the last round.

Beside him, Kiet lingers on the apron for a moment longer, jaw tight as he looks toward the opposite corner.

“So they’re having an easy night, huh,” he mutters quietly.

Thanid glances at him, and their eyes meet for a brief moment.

Kiet’s gaze hardens. “Then remind them who you are,” he says.

His voice drops into a cold whisper.

“Make this night a nightmare they’ll never forget.”

***

The bell for the fourth round finally rings. Thanid comes out of his corner with far greater conviction than before.

He wastes no time claiming the center of the ring, his stance disciplined, guard high and compact. At first glance nothing seems different, but the small adjustments in his movement tell another story.

His feet look lighter, and there is a quiet confidence behind the gloves now.

“The fourth round is underway,” the lead commentator says as both fighters step forward. “The challenger looks more assertive now, taking the center early. Let’s see if Thanid Kouthai can start changing the rhythm of this fight.”

Across from him, Ryoma settles back into his familiar rhythm. Still in his southpaw stance, he sways lightly on the balls of his feet, flicking a lazy right jab every few seconds as if testing the distance more than trying to land.

It has been two full rounds since Ryoma switched to southpaw. Perhaps that isn’t enough time for Thanid to fully adjust to the new angles. He still struggles to find the correct timing to step in cleanly.

But the time hasn’t been wasted either. It has given Thanid enough rounds to grow accustomed to something else; Ryoma’s stiff right jab.

The punch carries more weight behind it, certainly.

But it lacks the speed, variety, and deceptive sharpness that made Ryoma’s left jab so difficult to deal with.