VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Five days after that exhausting event in Yoyogi.

The small office at Nakahara Gym feels quieter than usual. Papers are spread across the table, and the glow of Kurogane’s laptop reflects faintly on the polished wood.

Sera flips through the final summary sheet and begins reading the numbers aloud. “Ticket sales first. Total revenue: ¥117.842.000.”

Kurogane enters the number into the spreadsheet without looking away from his laptop screen.

“Sponsors,” Sera continues, “with the result after aggressive ’gambling’ negotiations in the final stages, all twenty-five slots filled. Total contribution: ¥75.450.000.”

Another series of keystrokes by Kurogane on laptop, and then he waits.

“Broadcast rights,” Sera continues, “domestic and global, including the additional streaming licenses, ¥60.225.000.”

Ryoma leans back slightly in his chair, listening.

“And miscellaneous revenue,” Sera finishes. “Merchandise, program books, food stalls. ¥10.318.500.”

Kurogane presses one last key and lets the program calculate. He glances at the result, and then turns the laptop slightly toward the others.

“Total gross revenue, ¥263.835.500.”

For a moment no one speaks. They already know the event has done well. Still, the real question sits somewhere else entirely.

Nakahara folds his arms, eyes on the screen. “And the expenses?” he asks calmly. “Everything settled?”

Kurogane nods once. “Yes. All obligations have been cleared.”

He scrolls down the spreadsheet. “Undercard purses and accommodations; fighters, visas, international travel, ¥110.155.000.”

His fingers move again. “Production costs. Yoyogi Arena rental, ring installation, jumbotron setup, broadcast crew, venue staff and cleaning. ¥30.412.000.”

Sera quietly confirms the figure with a glance at his papers. “Honestly, we were extremely lucky. Getting Vegas-level production for that price doesn’t happen often.”

“Marketing and distribution, ¥30.718.000,” Kurogane continues, before he stops typing. “Total expenses: ¥171.285.000.”

Sera exhales softly as he looks at the number on the screen. “That’s… a lot of money for an OPBF title fight event,” he remarks.

Ryoma gives a faint chuckle under his breath. Even Nakahara’s brow lifts slightly.

It is not the kind of budget most regional titles ever see. But then again, this night at Yoyogi has never really been planned like an ordinary regional card.

Nakahara exhales slowly through his nose, doing the math in his head. “So that leaves us…”

“Gross profit,” Sera says, eyes still on the screen, “that would be ¥92.550.500.”

Kurogane adds the final line. “After administrative costs and contingencies; sanctioning fees, medical staff, doping tests… ¥4.285.500.”

Kurogane taps the final calculation, and the spreadsheet updates.

“Net profit,” he says, allowing a faint smile, “No less than ¥88.265.000.”

Ryoma lets out a quiet breath and rests his elbows on the table.

“Not bad,” he says.

Nakahara nods slowly. His expression remains composed, but there is a quiet satisfaction behind his eyes.

They have organized fight nights before; smaller cards, local events, shows that keep the gym alive. But this one is different.

This is the first time they gamble on a stage this large, something closer to the scale of the global fight nights people associate with Las Vegas. And they come out ahead.

Kurogane closes the laptop. “No debts. All payments settled. The number is there. Now it’s up to you guys how to split it.”

Ryoma glances at Nakahara. “Looks like we passed the test.”

Nakahara allows himself a small smile. “Yes,” he says. “And now we know we can do it again.”

“Absolutely not.” Sera’s response comes immediately.

The words are not sharp, but they carry enough weight to make both Nakahara and Ryoma look his way.

Sera leans back slightly in his chair, fingers interlocked as he considers the numbers that had just been read aloud.

“What we pulled off here worked,” he says, “but let’s not pretend this was something easily repeatable. Too many pieces lined up in our favor.”

He gestures lightly toward the laptop. “The sponsor slots filled because we pushed those negotiations right to the edge. Reika helped us secure production support that normally would have cost far more than what we actually paid. The broadcast deal only came together because several circumstances happened to line up in our favor, and that’s not something we can simply reproduce whenever we want. And then there’s Hirotaka Fujimoto’s involvement…”

He pauses for a moment before finishing the thought. “If even one of those pieces had fallen through, the margin we’re looking at right now could have shrunk very quickly.”

Ryoma scratches the back of his neck, his grin fading a little. A part of him, the side that enjoys a good gamble, feels the familiar urge to chase a win like this. When a risk pays off, the instinct is always to try it again.

But he knows this isn’t just about him. Too many people are tied to the outcome now, so he keeps the thought to himself.

“In other words,” Sera continues, “we passed the test. But we also got through it with a great deal of luck. That’s not something you can build a long-term plan around.”

Kurogane nods slowly, clearly in agreement. “He’s right. Pressure is useful, up to a point. Just like difficult training builds a stronger fighter. But if you keep pushing the body without giving it time to recover, you stop building strength and start causing damage.”

He taps the laptop lightly with his finger. “This event was like that kind of pressure. Good for proving we can handle it. Not something we should keep repeating without pause.”

His eyes shift between Nakahara and Ryoma. “For the next year or two, we should be smarter about it. Build stability, strengthen the foundation, and avoid gambling on situations where everything has to go perfectly just for us to survive.”

Nakahara listens without interrupting, then nods slowly. “That’s fair.”

Ryoma exhales and shrugs. “Alright. Maybe not immediately again.”

Sera gives him a flat look. “That is the closest thing to caution I’ve heard from you all day.”

He pushes his chair back and stretches his arms above his head, joints cracking lightly after sitting through the long discussion.

“Well, I should get back to my job as trainer.”

He gathers his papers, gives the three men a short nod, and heads for the door.

At the moment, all five fighters who took part in the Yoyogi event are still on break. Ryoma is present today, though not in the role of a boxer.

Outside, Satoru is already training with Kenta. As for Kenta, of course, he never actually fought that night.

Even so, the gym never truly rests. Later, by early afternoon the amateur youngsters will start filling the place, eager for their daily training.

Sera opens the door, steps out into the corridor, and closes it behind him.

Nakahara leans back slightly in his chair and looks at Ryoma. “Now let’s talk about the split. We’re co-promoters, that means fifty-fifty.”

Ryoma nods slowly, though something crosses his mind. “Wait, how much did we start this event with again?”

Kurogane answers immediately. “You guys started with 33 million yen. That was the initial capital, which turned out to be far from enough. Ryoma later stepped in after that, matching the amount with another thirty-three million yen and officially joining as co-promoter.”

Ryoma leans forward slightly. “Then maybe we should keep some of our current profits inside the promotional firm. Consider it stable capital for future events. Like 60 million yen.”

Kurogane pauses, doing the calculation quickly in his head.

“Leave it in the company account,” Ryoma shrugs lightly. “It gives us breathing room for the next projects.”

Nakahara studies him. “So you’re planning to stay in this? To be a co-promoter from now on?”

Ryoma nods. “Yeah. For the future of the gym… and this promotion firms.”

Nakahara exhales through his nose. “Kid, you already invested too much just to make this event happen. You even used the purse Fujimoto gave you to help fund the show.”

He gestures toward the laptop. “And now that we finally make a healthy profit, you still want sixty million sitting in the company account?”

Ryoma shrugs again. “Something like that.”

Kurogane closes the spreadsheet and nods in approval. “I support the idea. For long-term operations, having capital reserves is critical. Especially if we plan to run more international-scale events.”

Nakahara rubs his temple, half exasperated. “Kid… You really are planning to stay in this business. You could just take the money and use it for yourself. Move your mom somewhere better, get a much better place to live.”

Ryoma pushes himself up from the chair and stretches his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders as the tension from the long meeting finally starts to loosen. As he walks toward the door, he glances back over his shoulder.

“I’m just investing in my own future,” he says casually. “Besides, my mom has always turned down everything I tried to give her. Even the idea of moving to a new house.”

“What if this whole business collapses?” Nakahara presses. “Are you ready to take that loss?”

Ryoma pauses by the doorway and looks at Nakahara. “Don’t worry so much, old man. I still get income from Aqualis Labs, remember?”