VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma understands it now with absolute clarity. This is no longer about scouting his conditioning. This man is trying to injure him before the fight.

A right hand grazes his forearm.

Dugh.

Another clips his upper arm.

Dugh

The pain sinks deeper than it should, heavy and unnatural, sending a dull shock through the muscle.

Ryoma’s eyes sharpen. “Damn it…”

Each time that right hand touches him, the sensation lingers, wrong in a way his body immediately recognizes.

As Archie keeps pressing, Ryoma’s defensive instincts sharpen in response, his movements becoming more precise, more deliberate as he begins to avoid that right hand at all costs.

He slips left, steps back, pivots out, his awareness narrowing entirely around that single threat.

And gradually, he slips into the zone.

The space around him slows. Punches stretch into clearer lines, trajectories easier to read, timing easier to intercept.

Archie steps in again. Ryoma sees a small opening, and takes it. He shifts forward and drives his lead shoulder into Archie’s chest, not a strike, but a controlled bump that creates just enough space between them.

Archie immediately steps back in, his right arm already moving, the hook coming fast with clear intent.

“Just one punch…”

“Let me hit that face… just once.”

But Ryoma’s counter lands first.

Dsh!

The punch snaps Archie’s head, freezing him in place for a fraction of a second.

Ryoma doesn’t hesitate. He follows instantly, digging into the body with a tight sequence of hooks.

Bugh! Bugh! Bugh!

Each one lands clean, compact, driven with precision into the ribs and midsection.

Archie absorbs them, his body tightening as he refuses to give ground, his stance holding despite the impact.

He fires back anyway; a double hook, one from each side, thrown in quick succession with brute force.

Ryoma reads it. His body moves before thought catches up. He ducks the first, then the second. His head slipping cleanly under both arcs.

Then he rises on the outside and drives a hard left hook into Archie’s ribs.

Bugh!

The impact lands solid, folding into the side with force.

Ryoma pivots immediately after, his feet turning sharply as he slips past Archie’s line and takes the outside angle.

Now Archie is the one moving back, toward the ropes.

Ryoma doesn’t want this to drag on.

Not like this.

Not against something like that hidden in his glove.

He decides in that instant, steps in, and fully commits even knowing the risk.

His right shoulder turns, his hips driving through as he throws a full right hook toward Archie’s head, abandoning caution for a decisive end.

At the same time, Archie throws his own right hook.

“Fine… bring it on, kid!”

Both punches collide in the same moment.

But Ryoma is faster. His left glove shifts just enough, catching Archie’s strike at the back of the fist, stopping its path before it can land clean.

And his own punch…

BAM!!!

…crashes straight into Archie’s jaw.

There is a slight delay before the impact fully registers. Archie remains standing for a brief moment, his legs still holding, but the equilibrium in his inner ear collapses, his balance completely thrown off.

His body tilts to the right, unsteady, his posture no longer under control as the signal between his brain and movement breaks down.

Before he can fall, Ryoma fires a decisive double hook with a vicious angle, the first rising from below, tight and compact, followed instantly by a second crashing down from above.

Dsh! BAM!!!

The combination lands clean on the head.

Archie’s body gives out immediately, dropping to the canvas as if the strings holding him up have been cut.

He lies there, his face blank, his eyes unfocused, unable to process what just happened.

Outside the ring, Aramaki and Douglas fall into silence. Neither of them speaks.

For the first time, they are witnessing a fight at this level up close, yet even within that level, Ryoma turns it into something completely one-sided.

***

Ryoma doesn’t wait for Archie to get up, not even sparing him a glance to see if he can stand. He pulls the mouthpiece from his mouth and slams it onto the canvas.

His expression hardens, anger now clearly visible as his jaw tightens. He bites down on the strap of his right glove and yanks it loose, pulling it off with a sharp motion before quickly removing the other.

Without hesitation, he plants his foot on Archie’s right hand, pinning it firmly against the canvas. Archie twitches slightly under the pressure, but his body still refuses to respond properly.

Ryoma crouches down and forcefully pulls the glove off. The truth reveals itself; a compact iron knuckle sits fitted around Archie’s hand.

Ryoma rips it free and brings it up in front of Archie’s face.

“I knew it,” he bellows, his voice sharp with anger. “I knew you were the one who sabotaged my sleep back in Antipolo.”

Archie says nothing. His vision remains blurred, the world still spinning as he struggles to regain control of his senses.

Ryoma grabs him by the shirt and drags him up slightly, forcing his face closer.

“Now you better tell me,” Ryoma growls, his grip tightening. “Who sent you here?”

There’s still no response from Archie.

But then, Ryoma’s eyes narrow slightly as something shifts at the edge of his vision, a subtle movement that immediately draws his attention. He doesn’t turn fully, but he already knows who it is.

“You better stay there,” Ryoma warns, his voice low and firm.

Douglas stiffens on the spot. His body tenses, not daring to move any further. With his ribs still throbbing and his legs unsteady, he knows stepping in now would only make things worse.

Ryoma turns back to Archie, his grip tightening as he pulls him slightly closer, forcing eye contact.

“Answer me,” he demands, his tone sharper now. “Who sent you?”

Archie’s vision begins to clear, the blur fading as the world slowly comes back into focus. His breathing is uneven, but his awareness returns piece by piece.

But instead of a word, he gives Ryoma a spit, and the saliva lands across Ryoma’s face.

For a brief moment, Ryoma freezes.

“What the…?”

Then the anger surfaces. His expression hardens instantly, and without restraint, he pulls Archie up just enough before driving his bare knuckle straight into his face.

Crack!

The punch lands clean, snapping Archie’s head to the side as a tooth breaks loose and spills from his mouth.

“Aramaki!” Ryoma calls out sharply. “Did you bring your phone?”

“Yeah,” Aramaki answers, already pulling it out. “I’ve got it.”

“Call the police.”

Aramaki unlocks the screen and moves to dial, but his thumb hesitates mid-motion as realization hits him.

“…Ryoma,” he says, glancing up. “We’re in Manila. Do you know the number here?”

Ryoma blinks once, his mind searching, but nothing comes up. He clicks his tongue, irritation creeping into his expression as he reaches inward for the system, asking for the number.

But the system’s response pushes his anger to its peak.

***

[No such data available]

***

Ryoma’s face tightens. “Are you serious…? Now you decide to be useless?”

Somehow, his anger creates an opening, and that brief lapse is enough.

Archie moves with sudden precision, his body shifting in one smooth motion as his hand shoots up and clamps onto Ryoma’s right arm.

The way he moves makes it clear, his background leans far more toward jiu-jitsu than boxing. The movement is fluid and controlled, completely different from his boxing, as his arm snakes up and latches onto Ryoma’s right arm.

Ryoma’s breath catches. “Ah, shit…”

There’s no wasted motion. Archie clamps down and pulls it tight against his chest while twisting his torso from the ground, using leverage instead of strength.

Ryoma reacts, but he’s half a beat too late. Archie bridges his hips sharply and turns through the angle, forcing the shoulder into a position it cannot follow.

The pressure spikes instantly.

Crack!

A sharp sound tears through the air as the joint gives way.

“Gh…!”

A short, strained cry escapes Ryoma as pain surges through his shoulder, his arm going limp from the dislocation.