VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma initially assumes the two of them are discussing the usual thing, his next title defense. The laptop screen is filled with documents and notes, and given everything that has happened lately, that would have been the obvious topic.

But as he stands there quietly for a moment, listening to Kurogane read parts of a draft while typing, it becomes clear that the conversation is about something else entirely.

“…misrepresentation of contracted compensation, breach of professional conduct, and financial damages caused to our organization and athlete…”

Kurogane pauses while reading the line on the screen, leaning slightly closer to the laptop as if testing the weight of each word. His fingers hover over the keyboard before he deletes a phrase and replaces it with something more precise.

“Professional damages isn’t specific enough,” he murmurs, half to himself. “We should state clearly how the incident affected the contender ranking and the title eliminator.”

That is when Ryoma finally steps forward. “So this is still about Kenta?” he asks.

Both men turn their heads toward him. Nakahara exhales slowly through his nose, the tension in his shoulders making it clear the topic has been weighing on him for days already.

“You picked up on that quickly,” Nakahara says.

Ryoma glances briefly at the laptop screen before looking back at them. “Has the OPBF commission finally released their decision?”

Nakahara gives a short, humorless laugh, then leans back in his chair with visible reluctance.

“They did. And the result is almost useless for us.”

He gestures toward the laptop, inviting Ryoma to look more closely. The screen shows a familiar page from the OPBF website, the updated welterweight contender list arranged neatly in numbered rows.

“Arman Sargsyan has officially been removed from the rankings,” Nakahara says.

Ryoma studies the list without much change in his expression. His eyes move briefly over the names before settling on the position marked number three.

“And Kenta?” he asks.

Kurogane answers while continuing to type, adjusting a few sentences in the legal draft without lifting his gaze from the screen.

“The commission recognizes the victory as legitimate. The official result remains a disqualification win for Kenta.”

He pauses for a moment before continuing, choosing his words carefully.

“However, since the fight effectively ended the moment the first-round bell rang, the commission states there was no meaningful performance to evaluate.”

Ryoma understands the implication immediately. The match they had planned as a title eliminator had never truly taken place in the eyes of the commission.

“So Kenta couldn’t take Arman’s position,” he says.

“Exactly,” Kurogane replies.

Nakahara reaches forward and taps the screen with one finger, his frustration finally beginning to openly.

“Arman’s removal creates a vacancy in the list, but it doesn’t work the way we wanted.”

Ryoma looks again at the ranking. “Kenta moved up.”

“Yes,” Nakahara says. “From fourth to third.”

The answer hangs in the room for a moment, heavy with disappointment. The promotion poster from the Yoyogi event still hangs on the office wall behind them, its bold colors now feeling like a reminder of how much effort went into that night.

“And this William Fox?” Kurogane gestures on the list. “He was ranked third before the event. With Arman removed, he automatically moves into second place.”

Ryoma folds his arms loosely as he processes the situation. From a purely technical standpoint the outcome is logical, yet the consequences for Kenta are painfully obvious.

Nakahara rubs his forehead with two fingers, the gesture betraying how much the result irritates him.

“We spent thirty thousand dollars to bring Arman here,” he says quietly.

His voice carries none of the theatrical frustration of a promoter addressing the press. Instead it sounds like the tired calculation of someone reviewing a failed investment.

“And according to Arman himself, his management told him he would only receive four thousand dollars and five days of preparation. And the OPBF has confirmed that from Arman’s side as well.”

Ryoma raises one eyebrow slightly. “So the corruption story turned out to be real.”

“Completely real,” Nakahara replies. “The man walked into the ring believing he had been cheated by his own manager, and that same manager has conveniently disappeared ever since. No one seems to know where the hell he went.”

For a moment the only sound in the room is the quiet clicking of Kurogane’s keyboard. The cursor on the screen moves steadily as he continues shaping the language of the legal complaint.

Ryoma eventually speaks again. “So you’re trying to lobby OPBF for Kenta’s position?”

Nakahara immediately shakes his head. “That door is already closed.”

He nods toward the ranking list on the screen. “They’ve published the revised contender structure. Once the commission makes it public, they won’t reverse it without a scandal.”

Kurogane leans back slightly in his chair, folding his arms while considering the broader situation.

“Champion Kawamoto Sozen is already lined up for a WBC title fight next year,” Kurogane says. “We heard it directly from his team, even though it hasn’t been announced publicly yet. If that fight goes through, he’ll have to vacate the OPBF belt by January.”

He pauses briefly before continuing, his tone calm but certain. “They even hoped the vacancy would open the door for Kenta’s OPBF title shot.”

Ryoma nods faintly, already seeing where the logic leads. “A vacant title fight goes to the first and second contenders.”

Ryoma looks once more at the names in those positions; Manuele Jameson first, and William Fox second. Kenta’s name sits just below them.

“We missed the window,” Ryoma says quietly.

Nakahara nods once, the motion slow and reluctant. “If we try to pressure OPBF to move Kenta up now, Fox will immediately protest. And the commission will never reopen the decision just to satisfy us.”

The room falls silent again for a few seconds before Kurogane turns the laptop slightly toward himself and resumes typing.

“That leaves only one practical option,” he says.

His eyes move across the legal draft, reviewing the arguments he has been assembling.

“We pursue a civil case against Arman’s management.”

Nakahara sits back against the sofa, folding his arms while staring down at the coffee table, his expression still heavy with irritation.

“They sabotaged the match through corruption and misinformation. If the fight had proceeded normally, Kenta would have had a legitimate chance to claim that second ranking.”

Kurogane finishes typing the final line of the paragraph and taps the save key, the laptop resting on the low coffee table between the sofas.

“So we document the financial loss, the contractual misrepresentation, and the damage to Kenta’s competitive position,” he says calmly. “For now, that’s the only leverage we still have.”

Ryoma remains standing nearby, his gaze lingering on the screen as the words settle in his mind. For a while he says nothing, quietly following the chain of consequences that would unfold if they actually carried this dispute into a courtroom.

A lawsuit would not simply end with compensation. It would drag the Yoyogi incident back into public attention, force statements from commissions, and inevitably pull several other promoters into the argument.

The more he considers it, the less appealing the outcome appears. His brow slowly tightens, the faint crease between his eyes betraying his doubt.

“I’d suggest dropping it,” he says at last.

Both men lift their heads and turn toward him at the same time, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. For a brief moment they simply stare at him, exchanging a quick glance before their attention returns to Ryoma.

The reaction is natural, because Ryoma is usually the last person anyone expects to step away from a fight.

“Are you serious?” Kurogane asks.

He studies Ryoma’s face for a moment, trying to read whether he is joking.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think we can’t win this case?”