VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

That finally gets a reaction around the gym. Kenta, who has just finished removing his headgear after the sparring round, frowns slightly and walks closer to the ring apron.

“Wait, what?” he asks. “Aleksandr Volkov? The WBA champion?”

Aki nods eagerly, clearly pleased that she has everyone’s attention now. “Yes. That Aleksandr Volkov.”

Kenta scratches the back of his head, still unsure whether to take the statement seriously. “Hold on,” he says. “Is this just another rumor floating around online? You know how those boxing blogs get when they need clicks.”

Aki shakes her head immediately. “No, this isn’t one of those. It’s already becoming a big topic overseas.” She raises her phone as if it were evidence. “He said it himself during an interview earlier today.”

Hiroshi steps away from the heavy bag, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel as he walks closer. “What exactly did he say?”

Aki glances briefly at her screen before answering. “He said after watching Ryoma’s fight with Thanid Kouthai, it would be a waste if the WBA doesn’t put him into the contender list.”

Her voice grows more animated as she continues. “And honestly, he’s not wrong. Ryoma isn’t even in the WBA rankings yet. But after that performance? They’d be crazy not to consider it.”

Kenta whistles quietly under his breath. “Well… that escalated fast.”

Sera folds his arms thoughtfully. “If the champion himself is talking like that,” he says, “the WBA will probably pay attention.”

“Exactly!” Aki says, practically glowing with excitement. “That’s what I’m saying!”

She points at Ryoma, who is still inside the ring removing his headgear. “They’ll have to consider putting him into the rankings. And if that happens, next year we might actually see Ryoma fighting for the WBA world title!”

Her voice echoes loudly through the gym, filling the training space with sudden energy. The noise draws attention from the office almost immediately.

A moment later the door slides open, and Nakahara steps out, followed closely by Kurogane. Both of them glance toward the ring, clearly trying to understand what the commotion is about.

“What’s going on here?” Nakahara asks.

Kenta turns toward them. “Aki says Volkov might challenge Ryoma for the WBA title.”

Nakahara blinks once, clearly surprised. Kurogane’s eyes narrow slightly, as if measuring the idea in silence.

But before the conversation can build further, Ryoma speaks. “For now, a boxer’s words don’t mean much. Even if that boxer is a world champion.”

He steps down from the ring while speaking. As he does, he begins removing his gloves and peeling the tape from his wrists with steady movements.

“A fighter can say anything in an interview,” he continues. “But fights like that aren’t decided by fighters.”

The tape loosens from his hand. “They’re decided by promoters.” Then he tosses the loose strip of tape into a nearby bin.

“He might say he wants the fight,” Ryoma adds, “but if his promoter doesn’t like the idea, it won’t happen.”

The excitement in the room dims slightly after that.

Kenta rubs his chin. “…Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Aki walks closer to Ryoma, clearly unwilling to let the moment fade so easily. “But this is different,” she insists. “Volkov mentioning your name publicly means something.”

Ryoma doesn’t say a word. He just continues removing the last of the tape from his other hand.

“It shows he sees you as a real threat,” Aki continues. “And that kind of attention matters. The WBA will notice it. Your fight with Kouthai was huge, Ryoma. People are talking about it everywhere.”

Ryoma listens quietly. He even manages a faint smile, nodding along with her enthusiasm.

Kenta leans casually against the ropes. “You know,” he says, half joking, “if that actually happens, we’ll have a world champion training in this gym.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Kurogane replies dryly from across the room.

For a brief moment, the gym falls silent. Then Ryoma reaches down and picks up his bag.

“I’ll head home,” he says. “Let’s save the excitement for when a real offer actually comes.”

Nakahara looks up. “Kid! At least take a shower first.”

“My place is not that far,” Ryoma replies, slinging the strap of the bag over his shoulder. Then he walks toward the exit.

Inside the gym, the others watch him go. Most of them understand the situation well enough. In boxing, excitement and reality rarely move at the same speed.

Only Aki remains standing there with her phone in hand, still trying to process why Ryoma reacted so calmly. Even as a journalist, she still carries a certain sincerity about the sport, an optimism that hasn’t yet been worn down by the complicated machinery behind big fights.

***

Outside, the late afternoon air has begun to cool. The neighborhood surrounding the gym is usually quiet at this hour.

The nearby offices are still open, and most of the small shops along the street won’t see much activity until later in the evening.

Ryoma walks along the sidewalk alone, his gym bag resting comfortably over one shoulder. The fading sunlight stretches long shadows across the pavement.

He exhales slowly, letting the cool air settle into his lungs. The conversation inside the gym lingers briefly in his thoughts.

Aleksandr Volkov. A world champion mentioning his name.

For many fighters, that kind of attention would feel electrifying. But for Ryoma, it simply raises questions.

He turns a corner and continues down a quieter street that leads toward his mom’s barbershop. The area grows more residential here, with fewer passing cars and almost no pedestrians in sight.

But somewhere behind him, an engine approaches. Then a van slows as it reaches his position. At first Ryoma barely notices it. Vehicles pass along this road often enough.

But this one doesn’t continue forward. Instead, it stops beside him. And then, the sliding door opens with a sharp metallic sound.

Two men step out; tall and broad-shouldered, their pale skin and heavy builds making them stand out immediately in this quiet Japanese neighborhood.

Their hair is cropped short, their expressions cold, and their yellowish eyes carry a watchful stillness that feels out of place on an ordinary street.

Foreigners, the kind of men who don’t appear by accident.

Ryoma stops walking. And one of them speaks in accented English.

“You are Ryoma Takeda?”

Ryoma turns slightly. “Yes?”

The man gives a short nod. “Someone would like to meet you.”

Ryoma studies him for a moment. “Who?”

“You’ll know when you meet him,” the man says.

Ryoma exhales quietly, then he resumes walking. “Not interested.”

He passes between them without another glance.

Then suddenly, the second man moves. A heavy hand comes down on Ryoma’s shoulder, stopping him mid-step.

Ryoma slowly looks back. And the man shifts his coat slightly.

For just a moment, the fabric opens enough for Ryoma to see it; the dark cylinder of a suppressed pistol resting beneath the jacket.

The weapon isn’t raised, but the message is clear. And the man’s voice becomes colder now.

“I insist.”

The quiet street suddenly feels much smaller.

Ryoma glances around once, and sees the sidewalks remain empty. There’s no one nearby, just him and these foreigners.

He studies the two men carefully. Both are larger than him. Both carry themselves like men who are used to violence.

If he chooses to fight here, the situation will escalate quickly. And whoever sent them clearly isn’t concerned about drawing attention.

Ryoma sighs. “…Fine.”

He adjusts the strap of his bag. Then he looks toward the open van.

“Let’s see who’s so eager to meet me.”

The two men step aside, and Ryoma climbs into the vehicle. Then the sliding door closes behind him. And the van pulls away from the quiet street.