VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The tension in the room loosens slightly once the heavier part of the discussion settles. Kanemura straightens a little in his seat and gestures toward the menu that the waiter has quietly placed on the table.

“Well,” he says lightly, “we’ve talked enough business for the moment. Why don’t we eat first?”

Kurogane doesn’t hesitate.

“Perfect timing,” he says bluntly. “I haven’t eaten since this afternoon.”

Nakahara exhales softly, almost embarrassed. “Now that you mention it… neither have I.”

A waiter steps forward politely. Kurogane scans the menu with practical focus before ordering a grilled black cod with miso, along with a bowl of rice and clear soup.

Nakahara, after a moment of awkward hesitation, settles for tempura soba and a small plate of seasonal sashimi.

The waiter notes everything with a quiet bow before turning to Ryoma.

“And for you, sir?”

Ryoma shakes his head. “Just another glass of water, please.”

Kanemura tilts his head. “That’s all? No need to be shy. Dinner’s on me tonight.”

Ryoma smiles faintly but still refuses. “I have to keep my diet consistent.”

“Even when you don’t have a fight scheduled?” Yasuda asks.

Ryoma shrugs lightly. “It’s easier to stay disciplined like this than to break the routine and rebuild it when a fight comes.”

Kanemura and Yasuda exchange faint smiles at that answer.

Soon the dishes arrive, steam rising from the plates. The two older men begin eating at a relaxed pace while Ryoma quietly watches them across the table.

Then, without waiting for them to finish, Ryoma speaks.

“Let’s say I accept your proposal,” he says calmly. “What guarantees do I have that the WBO Asia Pacific champion won’t avoid me?”

Kanemura dabs his lips with a napkin before answering.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he says. “We already visited Villanueva’s camp and suggested this arrangement.”

Nakahara lifts his head. “And they’re interested?”

“Yes,” Kanemura replies. “But with one condition. They want to host the fight in the Philippines. They also asked me to convince you not to push this into a purse bid. They’re quite certain they would lose that.”

Nakahara frowns slightly. “They’re not confident in winning the bid, yet they still insist on hosting?”

Kanemura shrugs. “They simply want to give the local fans a show. Ryoma has quite a following there. Many people would love to see him fight close to home. If the match happens in Tokyo, a lot of those fans would miss the chance.”

Nakahara listens with a puzzled look. He scoops a small bite of food with his spoon but pauses before bringing it to his mouth.

“So they’re that confident their champion can beat Ryoma?” Kurogane says.

“Not really,” Yasuda replies calmly. “Dante Villanueva isn’t the type of fighter who worries too much about that. To him, boxing is entertainment. As long as he delivers a great fight and the crowd enjoys it, he’s satisfied.”

Yasuda takes a sip of tea before continuing. “And besides, we can make the match a double ranking bout for both WBO and WBC. Even if Dante loses, as long as he doesn’t look terrible, he could still enter the WBC top ten. That possibility is very real.”

Nakahara stares at him in disbelief. “So they’re willing to risk the WBO Asia Pacific title… just for a chance at a WBC ranking?”

Kanemura simply shrugs again. “Apparently, being in the WBC top ten is more attractive than being WBO Asia Pacific champion to him.”

Yasuda sets his teacup down gently, glancing between Nakahara and Ryoma as the conversation continues.

“If possible,” he says, “we’d like the fight to happen early December.”

Nakahara raises an eyebrow slightly. “That’s too soon.”

“The next WBO title fight could happen as early as December, or January at the latest,” Yasuda explains. “Timing matters for the structure we discussed.”

His gaze moves to Ryoma. “From what I heard, you didn’t take much damage in your fight with Thanid Kouthai. December should be manageable for you.”

Ryoma doesn’t answer immediately. He leans back in his chair, arms loosely folded, thinking.

After a brief pause, Nakahara turns toward him. “Honestly, after Yoyogi, I realized something… it would be nice to have one of your fights where I don’t have to worry about organizing the entire event myself.”

Ryoma lets out a quiet breath, almost amused by that reasoning. He no longer looks objected to the idea anymore.

But before he can respond, however, Kanemura raises a hand. “Wait,” he says. “If you are really going to accept this… if possible, keep this arrangement a secret for now.”

Ryoma tilts his head slightly. “Why? You don’t want people seeing what you’re doing here with us?”

“There’s nothing improper about meetings like this,” Yasuda replies calmly. “Officials speak with fighters and promoters all the time.”

He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “But there is something you must avoid.”

Kanemura nods once and continues. “Do not let news of the unification fight leak before Trevor Langley announces that he’s moving up to Super Lightweight.”

“If this gets out too early,” Yasuda says, “Hugo Ramirez will realize what you’re trying to do.”

Nakahara’s eyes narrow slightly at the name. He doesn’t recognize it, yet Kanemura speaks of the man as if he’s a well-known figure in the business, someone whose influence needs no further explanation.

“And he could easily convince Langley to delay relinquishing the belt,” Kanemura continues. “As long as Langley remains champion, the rankings freeze. The entire structure we discussed collapses.”

Yasuda folds his hands neatly on the table. “So the order is important,” he says. “First, we wait for Langley to formally announce his move up.”

“After that,” Kanemura continues, “WBO will declare the belt vacant and schedule the title fight between the top contenders.”

He pauses briefly. “And only then, do we announce the unification bout between the OPBF champion and the WBO Asia Pacific champion.”

The plan now lies fully exposed on the table; delicate, calculated, and entirely dependent on timing.

For a few moments, no one speaks. The quiet of the private room settles again, broken only by the faint clink of chopsticks and dishes.

Then Ryoma lifts a hand slightly.

“Excuse me,” he says as the waiter approaches the table again. “If possible… I’d like to order a meal too.”

Kanemura looks up from his tea and lets out a soft chuckle.

“Sure, sure,” he says, amused. “Looks like our discussion finally worked up your appetite.”

***

Meanwhile, morning sunlight spills across the palm-lined streets of Miami, the coastal air already warm as traffic begins to thicken. Far from the neon nights of Tokyo, the city moves at a relaxed but confident rhythm.

A matte-black Lamborghini Huracán glides through the wide boulevard, its engine humming smoothly as it turns toward the quiet luxury estates of Coral Gables.

Behind the wheel, Miguel Cabello drives with effortless ease, sunglasses resting low on his nose as the morning light flashes across the windshield.

A few minutes later, the sports car slows before the iron gates of a sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion.

The gates open almost immediately. Cabello rolls forward and stops near the entrance driveway.

A broad-shouldered bodyguard in a dark suit steps out from the security booth, already grinning as he approaches the car.

“Well damn,” the man says, leaning down toward the window. “Look who remembered the way here.”

Cabello lowers the window and smirks. “Relax, Marco. You miss me that much?”

Marco laughs and taps the roof of the car. “Place’s been boring without you stirring trouble.”

Cabello glances toward the mansion. “The boss around?”

Marco nods casually. “Yeah. Inside.” Then he adds with a slight grin. “Him and Trevor.”

That makes Cabello pause.

“Oh?” he mutters.

He pushes the door open and steps out of the Lamborghini, stretching his shoulders slightly. Marco gestures toward the entrance and walks beside him as they head inside.

The mansion interior is wide and bright, marble floors reflecting the sunlight pouring through tall windows.

Marco doesn’t bother with formalities. He simply raises his voice toward the living room.

“Boss! Cabello’s here.”

From a large leather chair near the center of the room, Hugo Ramirez rises slowly. The moment he sees Cabello, his face breaks into a broad, welcoming smile.

“Well look at that,” Ramirez says warmly. “My favorite nephew finally shows up.”

Cabello walks straight over, and the two embrace like family. Ramirez pulls him into a tight hug, patting his back several times with genuine affection.

“Still alive, huh?” Ramirez chuckles.

“Barely,” Cabello replies with a grin.

Then Cabello’s eyes drift, finding Trevor Langley sits nearby.

The air tightens immediately. The two fighters lock eyes, silent and unblinking, like two beasts measuring each other across invisible territory.

For a moment, neither moves. But Ramirez notices instantly and waves a hand between them.

“Hey, hey,” he says with a playful scold. “This isn’t the ring. If you two want to fight, do it out there.”

Then he pats Cabello’s shoulder again. “But first, Cabello… there’s something I want to tell you.”

Cabello exhales lightly, still half-watching Trevor. “Yeah, I wanted to talk too.”

He then turns back to Ramirez. “I already told you about my fight with Ryoma Takeda. So why haven’t I heard anything from you?”

His tone sharpens slightly. “Don’t tell me you stopped trusting me. Like I’d lose to that kid.”

Ramirez raises both hands calmly. “No, no,” he says. “Sit first. Sit”

Cabello hesitates for a second before dropping into a chair.

“I can’t let you fight him right now,” Ramirez continues. “Can’t let him ruin my business. After all, I’m arranging something important for you.”

Cabello leans forward slightly. “A fight with Celeb Mercer?”

Ramirez shakes his head. “No. A fight with Liam O’Connell.”

Cabello barely pauses before answering. “Sorry. Not interested.”

Ramirez chuckles softly. “Are you sure?”

He gestures toward Trevor. “Because tomorrow, Trevor will announce he’s relinquishing his belt.”

Trevor remains silent, arms folded across his chest. His eyes stay fixed on Cabello, cold and unblinking, as if he’s measuring him.

“Soon he’ll move up and fight for the WBO Super Lightweight title,” Ramirez continues.

He leans forward slightly, voice lowering. “That means the belt becomes vacant.”

A slow smile spreads across his face.

“And that belt… is yours to claim.”