VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma exhales quietly, letting the insidious whisper fade from his thoughts. Breaking bones might end the fight faster. But that was never the plan tonight.

Instead, he returns to Nakahara’s advice, building damage patiently, accepting the slower path as long as the risks remain controlled.

As Thanid pushes away from the ropes and settles back into the open ring, Ryoma’s eyes begin scanning again, calmly mapping the targets that offer the least danger; the midsection, the ribs, and the narrow space between them, where the liver and solar plexus lie beneath the guard.

Thanid plants himself in his solid stance once more, elbows tight, gloves high. He sets the fortress again; which means Ryoma has to work the walls first before those targets can be reached.

For a brief moment his gaze flicks to the system’s HUD, the timer glows faintly in the corner of his vision; 48 seconds left.

“Okay… Let’s get back to work.”

His swaying pendulum step comes alive again, shoulders rocking lightly as he begins drifting across the canvas.

But this time Thanid refuses to let him settle into the rhythm so easily.

The challenger steps in first; three sharp jabs fire toward Ryoma’s head in rapid succession. The glove snaps through the air as Thanid tries to disrupt the champion’s balance before the tempo can fully return.

Ryoma doesn’t raise his guard. Instead, his head rolls and slips between the punches, his upper body weaving through the line of fire while his feet keep gliding across the canvas.

The first jab whistles past his cheek. The second slides just over his shoulder. The third grazes the edge of his hair as he dips lower.

Then Thanid throws something heavy; a chopping right hand crashes forward, aimed directly at the spot where Ryoma’s head seems destined to be as he ducks.

Ryoma still reads it ahead. His left foot pivots wider to the outside while his right foot slides backward, his torso tilting away from the line of attack.

Zrrff…

The punch barely misses. It skims across his hair and brushes the skin at the top of his right shoulder as the momentum carries Thanid slightly forward.

The entire arena gasps at the same time.

And before the sound can even settle, Ryoma’s left hook buries itself into Thanid’s ribs. His stance is back to orthodox now.

The punch comes from the blind angle created by the pivot, driven tightly into the body before the guard can fully close.

In the next split second, his hips turn immediately after, transferring the motion upward as a compact hook snaps toward the head. And the glove cracks against Thanid’s temple.

Thud! Dsh!

It isn’t the exact point Ryoma has been hunting, but the contact is clean enough to ignite the crowd.

Thanid’s head twists to the left a bit. But he fires back instantly with a sharp left hook.

But Ryoma is already gone. He slides out of range, his feet gliding backward as the hook slices through empty air.

He’s already back in his southpaw stance, the transition so smooth it’s almost impossible to notice. But the intensity of the exchange, and the way Ryoma slips out of it untouched, only ignites an even louder eruption inside Yoyogi.

“Waaa… Did you see that?!”

“Too slick!”

“He’s playing with him!”

“Go for it! RYOMA!”

The cheers grow louder as Ryoma settles once again at long range, shoulders swaying gently with the familiar pendulum rhythm.

At the commentary desk, the lead commentator lets out an impressed breath. “Ryoma just slipped a huge right hand and answered with two clean shots. That’s championship composure.”

The analyst nods while watching the fighters reset. “And notice how quickly he exits afterward. He steps in, scores, and disappears before the challenger can return anything meaningful.”

“Right now,” the lead commentator continues, “it almost feels like Ryoma walks into the pocket, takes what he wants… and leaves without paying anything for it.”

Ryoma continues drifting lightly across the canvas, the distance between them restored as if the brief clash never happened.

He flicks his gaze to the timer again. Twenty-two seconds remain before the bell, the digits quietly ticking down. Long enough to build a little more damage. Short enough that he can afford a slightly higher risk, so even if something goes wrong, the bell is close enough to save him.

Thanid is still cautious, his guard tight and disciplined. Seeing that, Ryoma decides to close the distance. Two lazy right jabs tap against the guard as he steps in.

Dug. Dug.

He settles into mid-range, planting his feet. From there he tests the high line with controlled power, about half strength, two jabs followed by a probing lead hook.

Thanid raises his guard to meet them, angling his forearms to catch the blows.

Dug. Dug.

Then his elbow flares wider, preparing to intercept the hook with a harder ridge of bone.

However…

Bap!

Ryoma simply slaps the elbow downward with the palm of his glove, already anticipating the trick.

As Ryoma holds that left elbow with his right glove, Thanid answers immediately with his right hand, firing a straight cross followed by a diagonal smash rising from below.

Ryoma slips the cross and pulls back just enough to let the second punch cut the empty air before his face.

Zrfff…

Then he counters at once with a quick left to the face.

Dsh!

“High-level boxing right there,” the lead commentator shouts.

“Thanid had the right idea with the counter,” the analyst adds, “but Ryoma’s timing was sharper… defensive slip, then a clean left landing up top.”

Thanid refuses to give ground. And Ryoma simply takes a half step back in, and continues the sequence with a short 1-1-2-1; two right jabs, a left cross, and another right stiff jab, forcing Thanid’s gloves to stack in front of his face.

Dug. Dug. Dug. Dug.

For a split second, Ryoma leaves his right hand pressing against that guard, nudging it forward to create space. At the same time his left drops slightly and his stance shifts back to orthodox.

Thanid notices the motion. Expecting an uppercut, he slides his right glove down to shield his chin.

But the uppercut never comes. Instead, Ryoma redirects the motion, knocking sharply against Thanid’s left elbow and lifting the guard even higher.

Thanid’s breathe catches. “This fucker…?”

That tiny manipulation opens a narrow window along the body.

Ryoma twists his hips and drives his right fist into the exposed flank with full power.

BAM!!!

The liver shot crashes into the left side of Thanid’s abdomen, the impact sending a visible ripple across the flesh.

For the first time in the fight, Thanid’s composure cracks. His face flushes a deep red, cheeks puffing as his breath catches in his throat.

A raw groan slips through his clenched mouth. The arena erupts.

“Oh! That one hurt him!” the commentator shouts over the rising roar. “That’s a clean liver shot from Ryoma!”

“That’s the danger of those body openings,” the analyst adds quickly. “You give a puncher like Ryoma that angle once, and he’ll take it every time.”

***

The pain folds Thanid’s posture inward. His back hunches, legs buckling beneath him as his core tightens in a desperate attempt to contain the shock spreading through his body.

Thanid staggers two short steps backward, retreating toward the ropes. His guard comes up again out of pure survival instinct, but the damage is clear.

Still, he doesn’t go down.

Ryoma wastes no time. He steps forward again, closing the space before Thanid can recover his balance.

Thanid folds into a tight turtle, gloves glued to his temples, elbows clamped near his ribs.

Ryoma settles into his pendulum rhythm just outside the guard, punches come measured but relentless, mixing levels as he searches for openings.

Dug. Dug. Dsh!

Dug. Thud Dug.

Thanid tightens his defense even further. At times, he angles his elbows outward, hoping Ryoma will crash his knuckles against the ridge of bone.

But Ryoma refuses the trap. He uses one glove to press and nudge at the guard, shifting its placement by inches, just enough for the other glove to slip through.

Bugh!

Dug. Dug. Bugh!

Dug. Dug. Thud! Bugh!

Body blow after body blow lands clean against flesh.

The rhythm of the strikes echoes through the arena, dull thumps rolling across Yoyogi like drumbeats.

Each impact draws a louder reaction from the crowd, thousands of voices rising together as they begin to realize what they’re witnessing.

Ryoma isn’t just attacking. He’s dismantling the guard. The roar grows heavier with every clean hit, waves of noise crashing down from the stands.

“Listen to this place as Ryoma tearing into the body!”

“And look at the control! He’s moving the guard, then punching the opening. That’s elite work.”

Thanid keeps trying the same nasty trick with his elbows, but Ryoma never bites. Not once do his knuckles strike bone.

And the more those punches slip through the gaps, the more something ugly begins to boil inside Thanid.

Outside the boxing ring, he is a Muay Thai warrior who has carved through opponents with brutal instinct, a man with a ninety-percent knockout rate and little patience for being controlled.

Being pinned like this, being bullied and worked over in one-sided fashion, only drags that instinct to the surface.

A darker urge creeps into his mind; to swing an elbow, to drive a knee, to break Ryoma apart.

As his mind clouded with madness, a sharp hook suddenly crashes into the side of his neck, near the base of his left ear.

BUGH!!!

Thanid’s vision blurs for a split second, and that’s enough.

His restraint finally snaps. His right foot twitches on the canvas, heel lifting as his toes dig in, the beginning of a violent counter about to explode.