VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Dizon remains where he stands for a moment longer, his expression tightening as he weighs everything he’s just heard.

The demand, the accusation, the certainty in their voices, it doesn’t sit right with him, not without something concrete to hold onto. From where he stands, it still sounds too abrupt, too convenient.

“I can’t just take this at face value,” he says finally, his tone measured but firmer now. “I’ll speak to the villa owner first. If there really was that kind of disturbance, he would know. Otherwise…”

He lets the rest hang, but the implication is clear enough. Without waiting for a response, he turns toward the door.

“I’ll get back to you after I confirm it.”

Ryoma doesn’t stop him. He simply shifts his gaze toward Kurogane. A brief look is enough, and Kurogane gives a small nod before following Dizon out.

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

Dizon glances back, and then gives a short nod of his own before continuing out. The two of them leave the villa together, the quiet morning air greeting them as they step onto the path leading down toward the main road.

The owner’s house isn’t far. A short walk down the slope, past a bend in the road, and a smaller property comes into view. The kind of place that feels separate from the rental space, but close enough to keep an eye on it.

As they approach, voices carry from the front, not raised, but strained.

A young couple, westerner, stands near the entrance, facing the owner. The woman has her arms folded tightly, her posture tense, while the man beside her speaks with restrained frustration.

“We didn’t come all the way out here for this,” the man says, shaking his head slightly. “We picked this place because it was supposed to be quiet.”

“It was fine when we arrived,” the woman adds, her voice tight. “But last night? That noise… it kept going. Over and over.”

The owner looks between them, clearly trying to process it, offering short responses, but not fully committing to anything yet.

Dizon slows as he hears it. His expression shifts.

“Now you see it yourself,” Kurogane says. “We’re not the only ones.”

After a moment of consideration, Dizon steps forward and approaches the villa owner, choosing a more practical route instead of escalating the matter further up the chain.

“Sir, we had the same issue last night.” He glances briefly toward the couple, then continues, “and my clients aren’t just tourists. They are professional fighters from Japan. They have a unification title match scheduled next month.”

“This isn’t a vacation,” Kurogane adds. “My fighters’ careers are on the line, along with investments worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. We’re not going to let all of that fall apart because of a truck horn in the middle of the night.”

The owner’s expression shifts immediately, the color draining slightly from his face as the weight of the situation settles in. He looks between them, clearly unsettled, his composure beginning to crack.

“I… I’m very sorry,” he says quickly. “This has never happened before. I can assure you that. That road… it’s not even a route trucks usually take. It doesn’t make sense.”

“An apology isn’t enough,” Dizon says. “My clients have already paid for five weeks in advance. If this continues, they will demand a full refund and leave.”

The owner stiffens, the implication clear, losing a long-term booking like this isn’t something he can afford to brush off.

For a moment, he looks caught, thinking quickly, searching for something that could resolve the situation without losing them.

“Wait… wait,” he says, raising a hand slightly. “That road is not wide enough for two vehicles to pass comfortably. If I leave my car there, no truck will be able to get through.”

Dizon glances sideways at Kurogane, measuring the reaction, then looks back at the owner. He doesn’t take long to decide, and indeed, he really doesn’t to make it even more complicated.

“That’s a good solution,” he says, already turning away. “Make sure it’s done. We don’t want to hear another horn tonight.”

With that, he starts walking back toward the villa, clearly unwilling to stretch the matter any further.

“Hey, wait…” Kurogane calls out, his tone low but edged. “You can’t be serious.”

Dizon hears him but keeps walking, clearly trying to brush it off and avoid the argument. Kurogane closes the distance and catches his arm.

“That’s not addressing the problem,” Kurogane continues. “Someone is clearly doing this on purpose. You think parking a car on the roadside is going to make them stop?”

Dizon exhales. “Let’s say someone is doing this deliberately. Even then, I can assure you, it has nothing to do with Alvarez or Villanueva. They’re not that kind of people. And moving to another place won’t change anything. If someone wants to disturb you, they’ll find a way.”

“Fine,” Kurogane says. “Then tell Alvarez to provide professional security for my fighters.”

Dizon frowns. “Security? You’re joking, right? We’ve already invested heavily in this event. You’re asking us to add more cost on top of that?”

“There are three fighters in our camp,” Kurogane counters. “Under normal circumstances, you’d assign three separate liaisons. Instead, you sent only one. Hiring two additional men won’t break you.”

Kurogane’s voice lowers slightly, but the edge doesn’t leave. “If you’re serious about competing with what we built in Yoyogi. then you should be ready to take a loss.”

Dizon exhales, longer this time, the resistance in his expression finally giving way. “Fine. I’ll go see Alvarez today. What about the gym schedule? Do you still want me to take you there first?”

Kurogane shakes his head. “There’s no way my fighters are going to the gym in their current condition. Just handle this first.”

Dizon nods once, though the weight of the situation is clearly settling in.

***

A few hours later, Dizon arrives at the Golden Fist Boxing Gym.

The place is already alive with activity. The air is thick with sweat and effort, the kind of atmosphere that never truly rests.

Inside the ring, Villanueva is already sparring. He moves with sharp precision, trading blows with a local fighter who struggles to keep up with the pace. The exchanges are fast, controlled, but intense enough to draw attention from those nearby.

Near the ring, Paulo Ramos stands with his arms crossed, watching closely. The reigning Philippine champion doesn’t say much, but his presence alone carries weight.

Beside him is his trainer, Virgil, speaking occasionally in low tones, offering small observations as the sparring continues.

Seeing them there, Dizon understands immediately. Ramos isn’t here by coincidence. He’s here to help, likely stepping in as a sparring partner once the current round ends.

For a moment, Dizon considers approaching them. But he doesn’t have the time. His attention shifts toward the office at the far side of the gym. The door is open, and inside, Alvarez is already there.

Without hesitation, Dizon heads straight toward it. “Sir. I need to report something. Nakahara’s camp is demanding professional security. They want guards assigned to protect their fighters.”

Alvarez’s brow tightens slightly, the request clearly not something he expects to hear.

But before he can respond, Rafa the manager cuts in sharply from the side.

“They don’t get to demand that now. Security arrangements like that aren’t part of the agreement. We’re not obligated to provide it.”

His lips press into a thin line. “Didn’t think they’d try something like this. That’s low.”

Dizon doesn’t respond immediately. Alvarez, on the other hand, doesn’t look convinced. His gaze drifts slightly, thoughtful rather than reactive, as if weighing something beyond the surface of the demand.

From what he has seen so far, Ryoma and Nakahara don’t strike him as the type to pull cheap tricks.

“Did something happen?” he asks finally, his tone quieter, more measured.

Dizon exhales once before answering. “Last night, a truck kept circling the area where they’re staying. Back and forth, every few hours. Every time it passed, it blasted the horn. Loud enough to wake everyone up. They couldn’t sleep because of it.”

Rafa lets out a short scoff. “That’s it? And they’re already asking for professional security? That’s ridiculous. If there’s a problem with the place, they should take it up with the villa owner. Comfort and safety there isn’t our responsibility.”

Dizon’s expression tightens a little, his tone turning more serious. “I asked them the same thing. But before I go any further… I need to be sure. This isn’t something from our side, right?”

“From our side?” Alvarez repeats. “What are you implying?”

“The way it happened,” Dizon continues, “it doesn’t feel random. It feels planned. And they’re already starting to suspect us.”

“Ridiculous,” Alvarez replies immediately, his tone firm now. “If Villanueva hears something like that, he’ll lose it. You know how he is. He’d rather lose his title than win through something dirty. And we’re not going that far.”

Dizon nods faintly, but the unease doesn’t leave his face. “Then could it be Della Cruz’s side? Maybe the target isn’t Ryoma. It could be Kenta Moriyama.”

For a moment, no one speaks. Alvarez considers it, then slowly shakes his head. “Della Cruz’s camp is too confident in their champion. They don’t need to do something like that. Not for someone like Kenta Moriyama.”

“If the target is really Ryoma Takeda…” Dizon murmurs, “then who sent it?”

Alvarez glances toward Rafa. Rafa meets his gaze, and something clicks between them, unspoken but immediate.

“It could be them,” Rafa says.

Dizon blinks. “Them?”

“They’ve been trying to disrupt this event from the start,” Rafa continues. “Everything leading up to the unification has been getting pushback.”

Alvarez nods slowly, his expression darkening. “And at the same time, they are making sure Ryoma Takeda doesn’t win in case they can’t stop the fight.”

Rafa exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t think they’d go this far. Guess they’re more afraid of that kid than I thought.”