VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

A low murmur spreads almost immediately. None of them step forward, but no one looks away either. The unfamiliar cadence of English lingers in the air, leaving behind more confusion than clarity.

“…What did he even say?” Okabe mutters under his breath, eyes still fixed on the entrance.

“No idea,” Aramaki replies flatly.

Ryohei exhales through his nose, squinting slightly. “Definitely English.”

“That helps a lot,” Okabe shoots back. “The question is… what about?”

Meanwhile, Hiroshi’s gaze remains on the two men, as if replaying the words in his head, picking out whatever fragments he can.

“They mentioned Philippines,” he says at last. “And… Dante Villanueva.”

“Villanueva?” Aramaki repeats, more focused now.

Hiroshi gives a small nod. “That’s what I caught.”

“Then they’re probably from his camp,” Hiroshi adds. “If they came all the way here, it’s not for nothing.”

Okabe lets out a short breath, then nudges his chin toward the entrance. “Hey, champ. Go talk to them.”

Ryohei doesn’t even look at him. “You go.”

Okabe clicks his tongue. “You’re the Japanese champion. That’s your job.”

“Not my job to guess what they’re saying,” Ryohei replies dryly.

“Then just stand there and look important,” Okabe mutters.

Before the exchange can go any further, a younger figure passes between them. Satoru, carrying a towel over his shoulder, slows just enough to glance toward the entrance, then toward the others.

“You guys aren’t going?” he asks.

No one answers. Satoru exhales quietly, then turns and walks straight toward the two men.

“Uh… hello,” he says, his English careful, slightly uneven but steady enough. “Welcome to Nakahara Boxing gym. Is there anything I can help with?”

The two visitors shift their attention to him immediately. One of them responds, speaking at a pace Satoru clearly struggles to follow, but he keeps his composure, nodding along as he tries to catch what he can.

“…Nakahara… Kenji Nakahara,” the man repeats at one point.

That part, at least, lands. And Satoru nods quickly.

“Ah… yes. Coach Nakahara is in his office. This way, please.”

He gestures with his hand, then begins leading them toward the back, doing his best to maintain a polite smile despite the gaps in understanding.

***

Meanwhile, inside the management office, the atmosphere is far more contained.

Nakahara sits behind the desk, arms loosely folded, while Kurogane leans slightly against the side of a cabinet. Sera sits nearby, listening, and across from them, Ryoma and Kenta remain focused on the discussion at hand.

“So let me confirm this,” Nakahara says, looking between them. “If we challenge the WBO Asia Pacific champion for Kenta, and we want to make this part of a triple title event… we’d have to win the purse bid first, correct?”

Kurogane nods once. “That’s how it works.”

Nakahara exhales softly. “That’s a big commitment.”

“It is,” Kurogane replies. “If we’re serious about this, we don’t just step in. We take control of the event.”

Sera leans back slightly. “And that means money. A lot of it.”

“A calculated risk,” Ryoma says calmly.

Kenta remains quiet, but there’s a subtle tension in the way he carries himself now, his posture tightening almost without him realizing it.

Being placed at fifth in the WBO Asia Pacific rankings hadn’t come as a shock; he’s already sitting at third in the OPBF, and the trajectory makes sense on paper.

But hearing it laid out like this, management actively moving to secure him a title shot, turns that quiet expectation into something far more immediate, and far heavier.

He almost says something to them, the thought already forming. But before he can open his mouth, the office door, left slightly ajar, is pushed wider as Satoru steps in.

“Uh… sorry,” he says, glancing briefly at the room before continuing. “There are guests. They said… Villanueva.”

The two men from earlier are already visible just behind him, standing quietly near the doorway. The conversation in the room comes to a natural stop as every pair of eyes turns toward them.

A brief stillness settles over the room as the name lands. But it doesn’t take long for the connection to form.

Nakahara is the first to move, exhaling lightly as he turns to Kenta. “We’ll continue this later,” he says.

Kenta nods without hesitation. “Understood.”

The tension in his shoulders hasn’t gone anywhere, but he keeps it contained as he steps back from the discussion. As he passes Satoru, he gives a small gesture.

“Come on, Satoru.”

Satoru blinks, then quickly follows him out, pulling the door open wider to let the guests through. Almost immediately, Sera steps forward, and gestures politely toward the sofa.

“Please, have a seat,” he says in English.

The two guests nod in appreciation and step inside. The door closes behind them with a soft click as they settle onto the sofa.

Nakahara and Kurogane adjust their positions as well, taking seats across from them. Sera lingers for a moment, offering a small, polite nod.

“Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee would be fine, thank you,” the older man replies.

Sera nods once and quietly exits the room, but letting the door slightly open, forgetting to close it.

For a moment, no one speaks. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it carries a certain weight as both sides measure each other.

The older of the two guests is the first to break it. “Before anything else, we appreciate you receiving us on short notice.”

He pauses briefly, glancing around the room again, as if reassessing something.

“We’ve heard about Nakahara Gym for some time,” he continues. “To be honest… people often describe it as a small operation.”

There’s no offense in his voice, only observation.

“But seeing it now…” he adds, a faint smile forming, “it’s not quite what we expected.”

The man beside him, broader in build, lets out a quiet breath of agreement, his gaze drifting briefly toward the training area beyond.

“Size doesn’t matter,” he says, more casually. “Back home, we’ve got bigger space. But here… your equipment is much better than ours.”

His eyes shift toward Ryoma for a brief second, then back to Nakahara.

“No wonder you produce fighters like him.”

The compliment settles naturally in the room. Nakahara nods along with a polite smile, but the slight delay in his reaction, and the faint crease between his brows, makes it clear he doesn’t understand any of it.

Kurogane notices it immediately, the corner of his mouth almost lifting, while Ryoma remains quiet, watching with the same calm composure.

They both understand Nakahara well enough to know his limits with English, and for now, they let the conversation continue, observing as much as listening.

The older guest inclines his head slightly. “My name is Marco Alvarez.I’m the promoter for Dante Villanueva.”

The man beside him follows without hesitation. “Luis Mendoza. Head trainer.”

Nakahara nods again, still smiling awkwardly, still slightly off-beat.

Alvarez then leans forward just a fraction. “We’ll speak directly. Right now, the WBO Asia Pacific title and the OPBF title are moving in the same direction.”

Mendoza picks it up smoothly. “And Ryoma Takeda is holding one of them,” he says, glancing briefly toward Ryoma. “Villanueva holds the other.”

Alvarez’s gaze settles back on Nakahara. “So instead of waiting, we believe it makes sense to unify them.”

Alvarez finishes his point and lets the silence open, clearly expecting an answer.

Nakahara nods at once, his smile unchanged. “Yes, yes…”

The pause stretches just a little too long.

Alvarez leans forward slightly. “So?”

Nakahara blinks. “…Yes?”

Alvarez’s brows knit, just slightly. “Yes?”

Nakahara nods again, a little more firmly this time. “Yes, yes.”

Alvarez turns his head toward Mendoza, who is already looking back at him with the same faint confusion.

Finally, Ryoma rises from his seat and steps forward, easing himself onto the empty sofa as if he had been waiting for exactly this moment.

“Unfortunately, my coach doesn’t speak English.”

A small pause follows, just enough for the words to settle.

“Well… he’s been taking classes recently,” Ryoma adds, “so I was curious how much he’s improved.”

Nakahara lets out an awkward laugh, still nodding as if to support the statement. In fact, he still doesn’t know what Ryoma says to them.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Ryoma says, tone even. “You can discuss this directly with me.”

Kurogane leans back as he adds, almost casually, “He’s also co-owner of this gym. And acting as co-promoter.”

For a brief moment, neither Alvarez nor Mendoza responds.

Mendoza’s eyes drift, almost instinctively, toward Nakahara, still sitting there with that polite, unshaken smile, before returning to Ryoma.

“I see,” he says at last, voice measured. “We actually attended your last event, the one at Yoyogi. A production like that… doesn’t come together easily.”

For Alvarez, however, the pieces begin to align. The rumors he had heard, about certain promoters trying to edge the OPBF champion out of WBC and WBA, no longer feel like distant talk now. They start to look like calculated moves.

A gym this size. A head coach who can’t event break the language barrier for negotiation. And yet, a Vegas-level event, executed cleanly just weeks ago.

Now, the hierarchy Alvarez walked in with has quietly been replaced by something else. Across from him, it’s no longer Nakahara he’s weighing. It’s Ryoma.

Alvarez studies Ryoma for a brief moment, then says, almost lightly, “It’s rare to see someone take control of both sides this early in their career. Most fighters take years just to build themselves as athletes. And most of them don’t make it. But this… reaching this level, and stepping into the business this soon… it’s not something we see.”

For a moment, Ryoma says nothing. The easy smile he had been wearing fades without effort, as if it had only ever been there out of habit.

He leans back into the sofa, one leg crossing over the other, posture loosening while his gaze sharpens.

“Let’s hope,” he says, voice calm but stripped of warmth, “you’re not looking at me like a problem that needs to be taken out before I learn how to run.”