VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

In the VIP section, the world-level fighters lean forward in their seats, each reading the ring differently.

Celeb Mercer, WBC champion, cocky as ever, lets a low, almost growling murmur escape. His eyes narrow, a mixture of respect and threat.

“This kid… he’s something else.”

Hatred and admiration twist together in his gaze, like a predator sizing up another predator.

On the other section, WBA champion Aleksandr Volkov sits composed, Markovic at his side. Their eyes flick between Ryoma and Thanid with cold calculation.

“Too sharp… too precise. Not a fight you want to improvise,” Volkov murmurs, eyes narrowing.

“Sorry to say it, but he’s a risky target for you right now,” Markovic adds, his tone calm but edged with caution, every word carrying the weight of careful calculation.

Miguel Cabello swallows hard, chest tight. His fingers grip the railing as he watches. A flicker of fear crosses his expression, tempered by awe.

Elliot Graves leans back, forcing a smirk. “Man… he never stops evolving.” Rival and friend mix into a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Then the referee’s voice cuts through, commanding Ryoma again.

“Ryoma Takeda! Neutral corner!”

The VIP reactions shift instantly to confusion. Mercer’s brow furrows. Volkov tilts his head. Cabello swallows again, unsure. Graves blinks, noticing that something about Ryoma’s vacant gaze doesn’t fit any pattern they’ve seen.

On the apron, Nakahara’s voice snaps, sharp and impatient.

“Ryoma! Move! Neutral corner, now!”

Ryoma blinks, as if shaking off a fog, then walks deliberately to the neutral corner.

But when the referee glances at the timekeeper, the count has already reached twelve. He can’t simply continue from that timing now.

He turns back to Thanid, resuming the count from where he paused before this.

Four…

Five…

Six.

At the commentary desk, the lead commentator shakes his head, disbelief in his voice. “What a waste of time! That should’ve been wrapped up already.”

The analyst leans closer to the monitor, eyes fixed on Thanid. “Can he even get up now? After those corkscrew shots to the body and a blow to the head… I wouldn’t bet on it.”

The lead commentator lets out a low whistle. “Ryoma’s patience just gave him more than fifteen seconds to recover. That’s huge, and honestly, a little dangerous.”

Eventually, Thanid pushes off the canvas on eighth. Legs wobble under him, but he rises.

Groans and shouts ripple through the local supporters.

“That should’ve ended it!”

“What are you waiting for, Ryoma?!”

“Is he really letting him get back up?!”

“This fight’s dragging on way too long!”

In the red corner, Sera chuckles, a mix of nerves and admiration. “Well… remind me of the fight against McConnel? He got saved by that long count too.”

Nakahara’s eyes narrow, unamused. “Exactly. And that’s why Jade McConnel lost. Same could happen tonight if Ryoma’s not careful.”

Sera shakes his head. “There’s no way. No scenario for an upset now.”

Nakahara’s gesture is subtle, but his eyes never leave Thanid. “I’m afraid that upset could happen here, just like Ryoma against Jade McConnel.”

Indeed, Ryoma’s corkscrew blows to the solar plexus and heart, and the strike that rattled his brain, had left its mark. Under normal circumstances, Thanid shouldn’t even be able to maintain such a solid stance.

Yet he stands firm. His gaze is wide, cold, and merciless. Nothing drives him now but pure adrenaline, sharpened by anger and a raw, almost cruel intent.

The referee steps in, moving toward Thanid to check on him. But the challenger shoves him away with barely restrained force and surges toward Ryoma.

“What… what is he doing? He’s shoving the referee aside!”

“I’ve never seen anything like this… Thanid is completely unhinged! He’s not thinking, he’s just pure aggression right now!”

“Ryoma better be careful. This isn’t a measured attack. This is sheer madness, fueled by adrenaline and anger. Every punch could end him if he misjudges the timing!”

The official hesitates, unsure, before letting the fight continue.

“Box!”

Ryoma leaves the corner immediately, but he doesn’t gain much distance. Thanid cuts it off almost instinctively and swings a wild, sharp, heavy punch.

Ryoma sees the telegraph, the motion clear. But he senses the suffocating aura around him, the raw madness radiating from his opponent.

He reacts slightly late; the window for a clean counter closes. So he tightens his guard, bracing himself, and…

BAM!!!

The impact slams into his forearms, sending a jolt of numbness up his arms and driving him toward the ropes.

“Ryoma’s in trouble!”

“Look at the power behind that! Thanid is unstoppable right now!”

“This is chaos! Absolute chaos in the ring!”

Thanid presses the assault with zero hesitation, zero thought. Every punch is delivered with blind fury, with the singular urge to break the man who threatens him.

Ryoma positions his guard as best he can, intercepting, blocking, but each hit drives into him like a battering ram. His arms grow heavy, numbed from the repeated shocks.

He sees the fleeting openings, but no counter can be launched now when his arms are so numb by Thanid’s assault.

***

Thanid’s body moves on instinct alone, every reflex heightened, every signal from his mind and muscles overridden. Bruises, fatigue, the strikes that should have slowed him, none of it registers.

Thanid has slipped fully into the Zone, but not the calm, surgical kind Ryoma knows how to resist. This is something different: a raw unstoppable surge, a fighter consumed entirely by instinct and the singular desire to dominate.

The crowd erupts on the side supporting Thanid, voices rising like a wave.

“Come on, Thanid! Show him!”

“Break him! Break him now!”

“Keep going! Don’t let up!”

Their cheers hammer against the arena like the punches themselves. The energy is raw, chaotic, and dangerously intoxicating, feeding into the madness Ryoma can feel radiating from Thanid.

The commentators erupt again, voices layered with disbelief.

“This is incredible! How is Thanid even moving like this after the knockdown?”

“Ryoma’s struggling! He’s holding on. Less than twenty seconds left. Can he survive this?”

“Could this actually be an upset? The champion’s on the ropes!”

Inside Ryoma’s mind, the familiar, insidious voice chuckles again.

>

>

>

Feeling the danger and running out of options, Ryoma drops his guard fully. He resolves to avoid the punches not by blocking, but by slipping and ducking, relying on movement rather than brute force.

One punch he dodges, another he slips, a third narrowly avoids him. His vision begins to tunnel dangerously close to the edge of the Zone.

But he resists, keeping his mind to stay sane, refusing to surrender control. Eventually, his concentration drops, and a heavy left hook slams into his right side.

BUGH!!!

The punch slips beneath the guard, driving into the ribcage under the armpit. The impact jolts him sideways, sharp and punishing.

Ryoma plants his left foot firmly, pivots, and fires a left hook of his own.

“Enough!”

BAM!!!

The punch smashes into Thanid’s head with such force that his body snaps toward the ropes. Yet he doesn’t acknowledge the pain.

“Unbelievable! That punch just rocked him… and he doesn’t even flinch!”

Thanid spins, ready to continue the assault.

Ryoma, arms no longer numbed, creates small space with subtle pendulum footwork. He ducks under a heavy hook, pivots, and shoves Thanid toward the ropes.

“Beautiful control by the champion!

From there, he chains three precise hooks across the ribs.

BUGH! BUGH! BUGH!

The local fans explode. Voices roar through the arena, stamping and clapping in unison:

“Let’s go, Ryoma!”

“Hit him! Hit him hard!”

“Show him who’s boss!”

Still, Thanid shows no concern for defense, only the raw, furious urge to break Ryoma.

He actually swings his right arm forward, with an elbow, his instincts as cruel Muay Thai warrior can’t be contained anymore.

“Good lord! He throws an elbow?!”

Ryoma reads it, ducks in time, narrowly avoiding the strike.

The referee reacts, alarmed. “Hey, wait…”

But Thanid doesn’t stop. He grips Ryoma’s head with both hands and drives a knee upward.

Still, Ryoma intercepts with both palms, halting the strike. And that’s the final limit. He cannot tolerate this fouling assault anymore, and pushes Thanid to the ropes.

The bell rings, the sound is so hectic and urgent.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The referee shouts, trying to intervene, but he’s too cautious to step closer.

“Hey! Both of you! Stop!”

As Thanid rebounds from the ropes, he still swings his right leg upward like a seasoned Muay Thai fighter.

But Ryoma has slipped into the Zone, instinct alone guiding him now. He grips Thanid’s shin with his left glove and drives a full-power cross forward, every ounce of force behind it.

The glove slips through between the guards, and connects with Thanid’s mouth while his leg is still mid-air.

Dhuack!

Thanid crashes to the canvas, mouthpiece stained red with blood.

The impact sends shockwaves through the arena. Spectators leap to their feet, some gripping the rails, others pounding their fists in the air.

In the VIP section, everyone; promoters, sponsor representatives, global guests, local and world-ranked fighters, rises instinctively. Even the most composed figures can’t hide the thrill and shock coursing through them.

At the commentary desk, the lead commentator is already standing, voice booming over the mic. “Good lord! Did you see that?! Ryoma just dropped Thanid in mid-air… mid-freaking-air.”

The entire arena vibrates with the energy of the moment. Fans scream, cheer, and whistle, their voices merging into a roaring wave that drowns out everything else.

The tension, the fear, the exhilaration, it’s all concentrated on that single, chaotic figure on the canvas.

On the canvas, Thanid thrashes and lashes out even as officials rush in, grappling to hold him back from the apron.

The analyst jumps in, equally animated. “Look at him! Thanid’s still burning with rage. That’s raw instinct, pure unfiltered fury driving every fiber of his body. Ryoma’s going to have to be on another level to handle this!”

Kiet and his team rush into the ring, trying to pull their fighter to safety before penalties are imposed.

“Thanid! Stop this madness now. You are going to throw this fight away!”

But the referee has seen enough. He signals to the officials and announces decisively.

“Stop the fight! Deliberate foul! Thanid Kouthai is disqualified!”

Kiet halts abruptly, his entire body stiffening. His eyes narrow, blazing with fury and disbelief as they lock on the referee.