VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma’s team doesn’t stay in the city. Instead, they arrange a villa in the hillside area of Antipolo, where the roads gradually climb and the dense noise of Metro Manila softens into something distant and almost irrelevant. The air feels calmer, carrying a kind of stillness that makes it easier to focus.

The villa itself sits slightly removed from the main road, reached through a narrow uphill path that bends just enough to keep it out of sight from passing traffic. More importantly, there are no immediate neighbors close enough to create distractions, which makes the place ideal for a training camp that values privacy above all else.

Antonio Dizon, the liaison, steps out of the van and moves to the back to help unload their luggage. Once everything is set down, he turns toward Kurogane and begins speaking in the same measured tone he has maintained since earlier.

“You arrived five weeks before the fight,” he says. “But as agreed, the promoter will only cover three weeks.”

Kurogane nods calmly, acknowledging the terms without objection.

Dizon then takes a thick envelope from his bag and hands it over. “This includes the allocation for accommodation and operational expenses.”

Kurogane accepts it, his expression unchanged.

“We’ve assisted with securing this villa,” the man continues. “Again, you came earlier, so the payment hasn’t been finalized yet. The cost for the accommodation is already included in that amount, so you can settle it directly with the owner.”

He glances back toward the road they came from before adding, “I’m staying nearby, at a roadside motel just a few minutes from here. I’ll be in the lobby tomorrow morning to take you to the gym as scheduled. If anything urgent comes up, you can call me anytime. I’ll be available.”

“Understood,” Kurogane replies.

The man gives a short nod, returns to the van, and drives off, leaving the team alone in the quiet hillside setting.

Kurogane open the envelope. Inside, stacks of Philippine peso are arranged neatly, each bundle secured and easy to count.

He goes through them with practiced efficiency, not rushing but not hesitating either, his eyes tracking the total as it builds.

Hiroshi watches from the side, waiting until Kurogane finishes before asking.

“So how much they gave us?”

“About one point two million pesos,” Kurogane says, pausing briefly as he converts it in his head. “Roughly three million yen.”

Nakahara’s brows knit slightly. “That’s… less than I expected.”

Kurogane glances at him, then gives a small shake of his head, already understanding where the miscalculation comes from.

“You’re looking at it from the wrong side,” Kurogane says. “Cost of living here isn’t Tokyo. Not even close. With this amount, you can live very comfortably. More than comfortably, actually.”

He adjusts the envelope in his hand, as if reinforcing the point. “This is more than enough for what we need here. Even if we spend a bit freely, it won’t be an issue.”

It is more than enough to cover three weeks in a place like this, along with food, transportation, and the day-to-day needs of a training camp. But Kurogane’s reaction remains grounded, as if he had already expected something along these lines.

“They calculated this for fifteen people,” he adds. “But we only came with eight. Even with the extra two weeks, this is still more than enough.”

Nakahara exhales, the tension easing slightly as the context settles in.

“…I see,” he mutters.

***

By the time Kurogane finishes settling the rental details with the villa owner, the rest of the team is already gathered by the front yard.

Kurogane doesn’t slow as he approaches, simply flicking his wrist and tossing the keys toward Hiroshi.

But Okabe catches it first. “I’m not wasting another second. I’m taking the best spot.”

The door clicks open, and he pushes it inward, stepping inside first without looking back.

“Oi… hold on!” Ryohei grabs his bag and follows right behind him. “You think I’m letting you decide that alone?”

The rest of the group begins to file in after them, the quiet of the villa breaking almost instantly as footsteps spread through the interior, doors opening one after another in quick succession.

Ryohei moves fast, scanning each room he passes until one finally catches his eye; larger than the others, with a wider bed and a better view through the window.

He doesn’t think twice. He drops his bag and throws himself onto the mattress, exhaling as the tension leaves his body all at once.

“This is it,” he mutters, stretching out across the bed. “I’m not moving.”

The door behind him opens, follows with a voice, flat and tired.

“You’re in my room.”

Ryohei glances over, and sees Ryoma standing in the doorway, his gaze steady in a way that makes it feel less like a claim and more like a conclusion that has already been reached.

“Don’t start it, kid,” Ryohei dismisses. “I’m dead tired.”

“You remember the bet at Yoyogi?” Ryoma reminds him.

Ryohei’s expression tightens for a brief moment as he pushes himself up, the irritation already visible in his eyes.

Ryoma tilts his head slightly. “I take that you already know how this goes.”

Ryohei exhales sharply through his nose.

“…This is bullshit.”

He grabs his bag and brushes past Ryoma on the way out, shoulder grazing just enough to show the irritation he doesn’t bother hiding.

Back in the second-floor hallway, Hiroshi is already claiming the last available room. By the time he makes his way down to the first floor, all the doors are already closed.

Ryohei tries one, it’s locked. He tries another, already occupied by Coach Nakahara himself.

He clicks his tongue, irritation building again as he turns back.

“Oi… wasn’t this place supposed to have eight rooms?”

From the one locked room earlier, Kurogane’s voice comes, slightly muffled but clear enough.

“Go look near the kitchen,” he says.

Ryohei pauses, then heads in that direction without another word. There’s still another room, but smaller. The ceiling sits lower, the bed narrower, the space tighter in a way that makes it feel like it was added only because it needed to exist, not because anyone intended to use it.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Ryohei turns immediately and heads back out. It doesn’t take long for him to reach Okabe’s room.

He pushes the door open without knocking. Okabe is already on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, looking entirely too comfortable.

“Out,” Ryohei says.

Okabe doesn’t even look at him. “Find your own space.”

“I did. It’s barely a room.”

“Sounds about right for you.”

Ryohei steps further in and grabs the edge of the blanket, yanking it hard enough to drag half of it off the bed.

Okabe’s hand clamps down instantly, pulling it back just as sharply.

“Let go.”

“Try harder.”

Ryohei reaches for the pillow this time and shoves it straight into Okabe’s face. Okabe swats it away and sits up, the mattress shifting under the sudden movement.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I’m way past starting.”

The bed frame creaks under the strain, the noise carrying out into the hallway along with their raised voices.

“Move.”

“Make me.”

“Gladly…”

Meanwhile, Kenta is already coming out of his room, clearly looks exhausted. He closes his eyes for a brief second, trying to endure.

But then…

“That’s enough, you two” His voice cuts through the hallway. “Some of us actually need sleep here! So shut it!”

He’s not someone who raises his voice often. But when he does, even Ryohei doesn’t argue.

“Damn it…” Ryohei mutters, grabbing his bag before leaving the room and heading back toward the smaller one near the kitchen.

The villa settles into a quiet that feels almost sudden after the noise. Fatigue takes over not long after.

The long flight, the drive, the tension of travel, it all catches up at once. Before long, the entire place falls still.

At least until a little past eight in the evening, and then suddenly…

HOOONK! HOOOOONK!!!

The sound tears through the hillside without warning.

What should have been a quiet stretch of road erupts with the harsh blast of a horn, loud enough to cut straight through the walls of the villa.

Inside one of the rooms, Hiroshi jolts awake. He blinks a few times, then reaches for his phone and checks the time.

“…Great.” He pushes himself up slightly, already thinking ahead despite the lingering exhaustion. “Need to sort the schedule… training blocks, gym time, and…”

HOOONK! HOOOOOOONK!!!

The second blast comes even longer than the first, filling the entire area as if whoever’s outside has no intention of stopping.

The sleep that had settled so easily moments ago is already broken.

On the second floor, Ryoma is already on his feet, standing by the window, one hand resting lightly against the frame as he looks out toward the road below.

Then a set of headlights approaches. The engine follows a moment later. And again…

HOOONK! HOOOOOOOOONK!!!

The truck rolls past the front of the villa, the horn dragging out as it does, echoing through the hillside before slowly fading into the distance.

Ryoma’s jaw tightens, eyes tracking the vehicle as it disappears down the road.

It’s the same truck. It keeps circling, passing back and forth, each time laying on the horn right as it reaches this stretch.

“The hell is this…” Ryoma mutters, his gaze hardening slightly.

>

>

It appears again, and honks once more as it passes the villa.

>

>