VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

For the first time since the confrontation began, something in the Frenchman’s expression finally shifts. The composure he had maintained throughout the meeting cracks slightly as his eyes remain fixed on the pistol aimed directly at his chest.

This situation has moved far beyond the scenario he originally imagined. He had expected resistance, perhaps pride or stubbornness from a young fighter, but not this level of control and violence delivered with such calm precision.

“Damn it… how the hell did it come to this?”

For a brief moment, the Frenchman wonders if bringing Ryoma here had been a mistake. The young boxer standing across the room is far more dangerous than the profile they had prepared before tonight.

His men, however, do not share that hesitation. The tension inside the room quickly fills with harsh laughter and cold intimidation as several of them begin speaking again, trying to reassert control through familiar threats.

“You really think grabbing one hostage makes you untouchable?” one of them sneers while keeping his pistol loosely pointed in Ryoma’s direction. “You’re in the wrong place to try something like this, kid.”

Another man joins in with a mocking tone that carries the arrogance of someone used to frightening weaker opponents. “Drop the gun, kid. And maybe we let you walk out of here without breaking anything important.”

A third voice adds another layer of pressure, his words colder and more direct. “You’re just a boxer. Don’t start thinking you’re some kind of action hero because you got lucky for a few seconds.”

The voices overlap as they try to overwhelm Ryoma with threats and insults, the kind of intimidation tactics that have probably worked many times before against ordinary people who did not belong in situations like this.

Ryoma listens to every word without changing his expression. Then the pistol in his hand moves slightly, and a muted shot suddenly breaks the tension.

Dzib!

The suppressed bullet slams directly into the left thigh of the man he is holding. The man’s entire body jerks violently as the impact tears through muscle and bone, sending a wave of pain exploding through his leg.

“FUCK!!!” the giant shouts in shock as his leg buckles beneath him.

He clutches the wound with trembling hands while blood pours through his fingers, his curses quickly breaking into ragged, helpless sobs.

“Oh, god… just kill me already…”

The effect on the room is immediate. The threats and insults stop at once as the sudden violence forces everyone into silence. Even the men who had been shouting a moment earlier now stare in stunned disbelief.

Boris finally breaks the silence with a low, hateful grunt. “You’re going too far, kid,” he growls, his eyes burning as he glares at Ryoma.

“That’s enough,” the Franceman says sharply with unexpected authority. “Stop provoking him.”

His gaze then shifts toward the man who had fired earlier. The name leaves his mouth with quiet irritation.

“Iuliano.”

The gunman straightens under the attention.

“Did I tell you to shoot him?” the Frenchman asks calmly, though the anger beneath the words is unmistakable.

Iuliano scowls and gestures toward the wounded giant still kneeling on the floor. “But boss, look at what he did to Dmytro,” he argues defensively. “You saw how he broke his shoulder earlier.”

Dmytro is in terrible condition now. His right hand still bleeds heavily from the earlier gunshots, while the new wound in his leg forces him to remain hunched forward as pain pulses through his body.

“Fuck this shit…” he groans weakly, his voice thick with pain as he struggles to breathe properly. “My goddamn hand… and now my leg too. Jesus Christ… what the hell is wrong with this kid…”

The Frenchman glances at him briefly before returning his attention to Ryoma. When he speaks again, his tone has changed noticeably, becoming calmer and far more diplomatic.

“Listen,” he says carefully, raising one empty hand to show he is not holding a weapon. “We did not invite you here tonight because we wanted an enemy.”

His voice remains steady, though the situation is clearly no longer under his control.

“This whole situation has gone further than it needed to. Let us end it here before anyone else gets hurt.”

He nods slightly toward the wounded giant kneeling on the floor.

“Release him,” the Frenchman says. “If you want to leave, then leave. No one here will stop you.”

Ryoma studies him quietly for a moment before answering. His grip on Dmytro does not loosen.

“Tell your men to throw their guns first,” he says.

The command hangs in the air, and none of the men move immediately. Then the man named Boris finally breaks the silence with a short, humorless laugh.

“You think we’re stupid, kid?” he says, glaring at Ryoma with open hostility. “You’re standing there alone and you think you’re controlling everyone in this room.”

The Frenchman snaps his head toward him instantly.

“Boris. Do as he says.”

The big man stares at Ryoma in disbelief for a moment, but the order in the Frenchman’s voice leaves no room for argument. One by one, the men reluctantly toss their pistols across the floor toward Ryoma.

The weapons slide across the polished surface until they gather in a small cluster near his feet. Ryoma waits patiently until the last gun lands before finally releasing his grip on Dmytro.

The wounded giant remains kneeling, breathing heavily while clutching both his leg and his damaged hand.

Before anyone can react, Ryoma’s left hand rises and snaps forward in a sudden, compact motion.

Dhuak!

The chopping strike crashes downward into Dmytro’s jaw with brutal precision. The giant’s head whips violently as the force knocks him completely off balance.

His enormous frame collapses sideways onto the floor, hitting the carpet with a heavy thud that sends a ripple of anger through the room.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You bastard!”

“You didn’t need to do that!”

Ryoma ignores them entirely and steps forward toward the small pile of pistols. He crouches calmly beside the weapons and begins picking them up one by one.

Inside his vision, the familiar interface of the Vision Grid System activates again. A transparent guide appears across the surface of the weapon, highlighting the exact points where the components can be separated.

Ryoma follows the instructions with quiet precision, dismantling the pistol piece by piece until the slide, barrel, and internal parts lie scattered across the floor.

He then reaches for the next gun and repeats the process just as smoothly. Meanwhile, the men watch in stunned silence as their weapons are methodically taken apart in front of them.

Within a few minutes, every pistol they had thrown forward has been reduced to loose mechanical parts.

“You really thought I was just a naïve kid,” Ryoma says calmly.

He begins stepping backward toward the door while keeping the last intact pistol loosely in his hand.

“Don’t come looking for me again.”

Nearby, Dmytro suddenly groans as he begins to regain consciousness. The giant lifts his head slightly, his voice filled with pain and anger.

“Fuck… my jaw…” he mutters weakly before spotting Ryoma. “You little…”

But another suppressed shot interrupts him instantly.

Dzib!

The bullet strikes him squarely in the backside, causing the giant to howl in pure agony as he collapses forward again.

“AAARRGHH! Please… stop shooting!”

Ryoma lowers the pistol slightly and looks back at the men one last time.

“Remember this moment,” he says quietly. “You’re still alive today because I chose to let you live.”

His gaze lingers on them for a second longer. “You have no idea who you tried to mess with.”

He bends slightly and picks up his bag from the floor, slinging the strap over his shoulder with an unhurried motion. The gesture looks almost casual, as though the chaos in the room means nothing to him.

Then he opens the door and walks out of the suite, leaving the room behind him without another word.