VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

For the first time, Nakahara feels the weight of how naive he has been. Decades as a boxing trainer, decades of routines and gym walls, and yet only now does he catch a glimpse of the waters he is stepping into. The currents of this sport are far deeper, and far more dangerous than anything he has ever imagined.

He’s spent most of his life as the coach of a small gym, nurturing fighters who rarely leave their local circuits. Only in the past two years, with Ryoma rising, does he begin to see what achievement could look like. And this past year, the reality of the boxing business; the politics, the unspoken rules, the networks of power, finally reveals its murky colors.

Kirizume had tried to sabotage Ryoma. Then Logan Rhodes attempted to lure him to the United States. And then, the Yoyogi event: a spectacle on a scale the gym has never known, with Ryoma stepping in as co-promoter and the backing of Hirotaka Fujimoto amplifying their reach. What once seemed like an opportunity for exposure now revealed itself as a predator-filled arena.

Back then, Nakahara saw the presence of those powerful figures as a magnet, a benefit to marketing the event. Now, with Sergei Volkov’s revelations still echoing in his mind, he understands the truth.

They didn’t come as benefactors. They circle like sharks around a lone tuna. And Ryoma, as always, is the one drawing their attention.

“So, you are telling,” Nakahara finally says, “I won’t be able to find an opponent for Ryoma in the top five of the WBC or WBA contender lists?”

“You can try,” Sergei says smoothly, leaning back slightly, “and perhaps after that, you’ll be kind enough to share what you learned. How they respond, what kind of deal they propose to make the fight happen.”

He lifts the cup of coffee, sips politely, more for appearance than need, then buttons his coat. “If I were them, I wouldn’t immediately block Ryoma’s path. Too much potential to ignore. I’d leave the door open, just to see whether he submits and bends to the system.”

Nakahara shifts in his seat, absorbing the weight of the words. “Wait… does that mean you’re not going to let Ryoma fight Elliot either?”

“Depends,” Sergei says evenly. “If it’s a normal match, an exhibition, a charity bout… then yes, I’m fine with it. But a world-ranking fight is different entirely.”

Nakahara goes silent for a long moment, struggling with the idea of limiting Ryoma to anything less than a real test.

Finally, he murmurs, “I need to tell Ryoma about this first.”

Sergei nods once, conceding. “Of course.” He rises, taking his leave. “I apologize for taking your time.”

Kurogane moves to escort him, but Sergei pauses at the door, turning back with a calm, deliberate glance.

“Honestly,” he says, “I like you guys. So here’s the deal… let Elliot climb for now. If, by luck or design, he secures that belt, then I’ll allow a fight between him and Ryoma… a true world-title fight. For now, I suggest you go for the IBF or WBO. Don’t waste your time with WBC and WBA.”

He bows slightly for courtesy and then steps out, leaving Nakahara and Kurogane in the quiet office.

Nakahara exhales long, staring at the door, his mind turning over everything Sergei has just revealed.

***

Not long after, Ryoma steps into the office, his gaze still fixed on Sergei’s back until the man disappears down the corridor.

“So… how is it?” he asks, voice calm but carrying a subtle edge.

Sera follows behind, curious, wanting to hear the answer as well.

Nakahara exhales slowly, settling into the sofa. “There won’t be a fight between you and Elliot. Not unless it’s just an exhibition match.”

“What?” Ryoma’s brow furrows, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Are they really that afraid of me?”

Nakahara shakes his head, tired. “It’s not that simple.”

Kurogane leans back slightly in his chair, expression neutral but attentive.

Together, he and Nakahara explain the nuances; the networks, the promoters, the Guardians of the Thrones, the politics of protecting top fighters’ positions.

Ryoma listens, jaw tight, eyes flicking between them, disbelief and frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

When they finish, Ryoma lets out a short, humorless chuckle. “So… they’re scared of me,” he says, voice sharp. “And all this? Just a story to cover up their fear.”

Nakahara doesn’t respond. Kurogane simply stares at him, expression flat, before letting out a quiet scoff.

“I know you’re smarter than this,” he says evenly. “You’re only being stubborn right now.”

Ryoma goes quiet, the sound of his own breathing filling the small office. After a moment, he finally lowers himself onto a chair, letting the explanation sink in.

And as he sits there, the pieces start to align. Everything begins to make sense; the subtle pressure from Logan, the way Jackson tried to manipulate things, the invisible walls built by promoters long before he arrived.

This isn’t about fear alone; it’s about control. And Ryoma, as always, will need to find a way through it.

Sera leans slightly forward, folding his hands. “Well… we can still try,” he says. “See who’s available. Maybe someone will bite.”

Kurogane finally speaks, his tone calm but precise. “If you’re serious, there are a few targets worth considering. Let’s start with WBC.”

He puts a few papers on the table, then lists them clearly.

“The current #1, Iván ’El Martillo’ Duarte, and #2, Malik Okoye, are both tied up in a title eliminator fight soon. That makes them completely off-limits for now.”

Ryoma leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “Figures.”

“So that leaves the next in line,” Kurogane continues, “#3, Miguel Carbello — available, and he’s shown interest before this. #4, Elliot Graves, you know he’s declined. And #5 Bobby Gibbs, the very fighter Elliot defeated before this.”

Sera nods slowly, processing. “You collected all these? Wait, what about those?”

Kurogane shifts slightly, stacking a few more papers. “This is the WBA top contender list. Starting from rank 5 and moving up. Again, no 1 and 2, Dario Cortés and Dante Sinclair, are unrealistic for now.”

He slides the remaining names forward. “That leaves #3, Leonardo Castillo; #4, Santiago Medina; and #5, Carlos Morales.”

Ryoma’s eyes narrow slightly, studying the papers. “So basically… the higher I aim, the more they’ll push back. The system is built to block me from the top until they decide it’s okay.”

Kurogane nods. “Exactly. This is the first test. The way the top contenders respond will tell you a lot.”

Ryoma lets out a quiet chuckle, almost to himself. “Sounds like the perfect warm-up. Let’s see who wants to play.”

Sera leans back, smirking faintly. “Just don’t burn yourself out trying every door at once.”

Kurogane adds, voice calm, “Start smart. WBC #3 and #5 are our first moves.”

Ryoma leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes flicking over the names. “Got it. First, Miguel Carbello. Then Bobby Gibbs. If they don’t bite, we’ll see what WBA offers, if anything. Step by step.”

Kurogane lets him sit with that for a moment, allowing Ryoma to digest the strategy. “And keep in mind,” he says quietly, “sometimes they offer a fight… but not a fair fight. Conditions, contracts, limitations, those will come. You need to decide if you’re willing to play by their rules or walk away.”

Ryoma’s lips curl into a faint smile. “Then we’ll see who bends and who breaks.”