VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Pain explodes through Ryoma’s body, sharp and burning, as his right shoulder is forced past its anatomical limit. Archie tightens the hold from beneath him, using leverage from the ground to push the joint further, trying to destroy it completely.

But Archie underestimates one thing. Ryoma does not give in; even as the joint shifts with a sickening crack, he ignores every warning signal screaming through his nerves.

Ryoma drives his weight down, pinning Archie against the canvas while stabilizing the position with what little control remains in his trapped right arm.

At the same time, his left hand rises and comes crashing down.

BUGH!

The hammerfist lands clean on Archie’s unprotected face, snapping his head to the canvas and breaking his focus. The pressure on Ryoma’s arm loosens immediately as the shock disrupts Archie’s control.

Archie releases the hold immediately and rolls away toward the ropes, scrambling out of danger before slipping through and dropping onto the apron, then stepping down to the floor.

Ryoma remains on his knees, his breathing short and uneven. His right arm hangs limp at his side, completely unresponsive, while waves of pain blur his vision for a moment.

***

[SYSTEM ANALYSIS: IMMEDIATE POST-TRAUMA]

Acoustic Profile: Joint Cavitation & Subluxation Shift. Negative for fracture.

Neural Status: Axillary nerve shock. Temporary loss of function.

Ligament Integrity: Not fully ruptured.

[URGENT RECOMMENDATION]

Immediate relocation required within five minutes before swelling onset.

***

Ryoma exhales through clenched teeth, forcing himself to stay composed.

Across the ring, Douglas grins with visible satisfaction despite the pain in his ribs. He raises one gloved hand in a mocking gesture, his expression twisted with relief and arrogance.

“Now you know how it feels, bastard!”

“Ryoma!” Aramaki shouts as he rushes toward the ring, his face pale. “Those bastards… we need to report this to Coach Nakahara and Hiroshi now!”

“Call them,” Ryoma says, his voice strained but steady. “Do it before they get away.”

Aramaki immediately pulls out his phone and begins searching for the number.

Douglas notices it. He doesn’t understand Japanese, but he can see what Aramaki’s doing right now. So he moves fast toward Archie, who staggers toward the bench where his bag rests.

“Damn it, we can’t stay here,” Douglas mutters.

But Archie, face twisted with anger, pride crushed and unable to accept what just happened, simply shoves Douglas aside. He reaches into his bag without hesitation, and turns around.

Ryoma sees it clearly, and the moment the Glock is raised and pointed at him, the color drains from his face. Something inside him shifts instantly.

He has been lingering at the edge of the zone this whole time, but now, driven by raw instinct and a surge of adrenaline, he slips fully back into it.

His breathing slows, vision narrows. Every detail sharpens.

Archie’s right hand trembles slightly, the aftermath of the knockdown still affecting his control, making his aim unstable.

Ryoma sees everything; the grip, the finger tightening on the trigger, the shifting line of trajectory aimed toward his chest.

Archie flicks off the safety first. In that instant, Ryoma rises. His thoughts go silent, leaving only his focus on the weapon, the finger, and the line of fire.

Then, there’s a slight twitch on Archie’s finger. And Ryoma bends his torso sharply to the left, slipping just outside the gun’s trajectory.

Bang!

The shot tears through the air, missing him by an inch.

Ryoma doesn’t stop moving. He sees the barrel adjust, tracking him again, and understands immediately that another shot is coming.

He shifts again before it happens, trying to stay away from the gun’s trajectory.

Bang!

Bang!

Two more shots follow in quick succession. Ryoma angles his body off-line before the second shot breaks and immediately drops his weight to the side, already moving out of the path.

The second shot misses cleanly. But the third tears through his shirt near the ribs and passing through.

A sharp heat flashes across his side, but he doesn’t hesitate. Ryoma rolls toward the apron and drops out of the ring in one continuous motion, landing low as he immediately spots Aramaki crouched nearby, hands gripping his head in shock.

“Ryoma! Are you okay?!”

“My ribs…” Ryoma mutters, pressing his left hand against his side.

Blood seeps between his fingers, not heavy, but enough to confirm the hit.

“Ryoma… you got shot?”

“Idiot,” Ryoma snaps. “Move. Quick!”

They shift quickly, staying low as they circle to the far side of the ring and drop into cover behind it.

Ryoma’s eyes scan rapidly until he catches sight of a wide mirror and the glass panels along the wall, using them to track Archie and Douglas without exposing himself.

Meanwhile, both Douglas and Archie stand frozen on the spot, their faces pale, unable to process that Ryoma is still alive after three shots.

Then Douglas recovers first, fear overtaking him. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” he snaps, turning toward the exit.

But he stops briefly at the doorway and looks back.

“Hey, Archie! Let’s go! Now!”

Archie blinks once before moving, following quickly while pulling the magazine from the Glock and letting it drop to the floor. He wipes the weapon with his shirt to remove any prints, then grips it with his gloved hand and throws it across the room, sending it sliding beneath a locker.

Without another word, they run. They don’t look like criminals fleeing the scene, but like frightened civilians escaping danger, their movements frantic, their expressions panicked, hands raised as if shielding themselves.

Moments later, a security guard approaches from the hallway. Before he can speak, Douglas calls out first.

“Over there!” he shouts, pointing toward the gym. “Someone’s been shot!”

The guard glances at them briefly, noticing the gloves and the panic, and assumes they are just bystanders caught in the incident.

He doesn’t stop them. Instead, he moves cautiously toward the gym, raising his radio as his posture tightens.

“Control, this is Unit Three,”

he reports, his voice steady but urgent. “Gunshots reported from the gym area. Possible armed suspect still inside. Requesting immediate backup.”

Behind him, Douglas and Archie move quickly down the corridor, their figures disappearing into the distance without looking back.

***

Meanwhile, Ryoma and Aramaki remain near the side of the ring, both aware the attackers are already gone, yet neither of them moves immediately.

Aramaki’s attention locks onto Ryoma’s torso, his eyes widening as he notices the blood seeping faintly beneath the fabric near his ribs, and the unnatural stillness of his right arm.

“Oh, God… Ryoma, you’ve been shot.”

“Relax, Aramaki,” Ryoma replies, his voice steady despite the shallow rhythm of his breath. “It only grazed the skin under my armpit.”

Aramaki swallows hard, his throat tightening as the delayed fear settles deeper into his body, his legs still weak and unsteady from the shock.

He didn’t see everything clearly when the shots were fired, because the moment the first gunshot echoed, he dropped instinctively, his hands covering his head.

Even now, his face remains pale, his heartbeat still racing unevenly, his stomach hollow, his entire body struggling to settle.

Yet in front of him, Ryoma stands differently. His face is pale, damp with cold sweat, but his eyes remain sharp, focused, staring straight ahead with unsettling calm.

What Aramaki doesn’t realize is that Ryoma is not staring aimlessly. He is looking at the mirror to analyze his dislocated shoulder.

Ryoma steps out of the ring and walks toward the large mirror along the wall, his movements controlled despite the pain pulsing through his shoulder.

He stops in front of it, his gaze locking onto his own reflection, and gives a command inside his mind.

“Activate X-ray feature.”

***

[!]

[X-Ray Targeting Activated]

***

His vision shifts instantly. Skin and muscle fade into translucence, leaving behind a pale blue outline of his skeletal structure, glowing faintly beneath the surface.

He sees it clearly. The rounded head of his humerus sits displaced from the socket, lodged forward, held out of position by tightening muscle fibers already beginning to resist.

***

[DIAGNOSIS: ACUTE ANTERIOR DISLOCATION]

[STRUCTURAL DAMAGE: MINOR – NO FRACTURE DETECTED]

[LIGAMENT STATUS: GRADE 1 DISTENSION]

[INFLAMMATION SURGE: HIGH]

[MUSCLE SPASM INITIATED: 246 SECONDS ELAPSED]

[ACTIVATE RELOCATION GUIDE? Y/N]

***

Ryoma answers silently. “Yes…”

At once, thin red grid lines overlay his shoulder structure, intersecting with precision across the joint.

An arrow appears, accompanied by detailed vectors indicating the exact direction and angle required.

“Ryoma… are you… okay?” Aramaki asks, his voice tight, almost squeaking as he watches Ryoma stand motionless before the mirror.

“Stay quiet,” Ryoma says, his tone firm. “Hold my right arm and help me fix my shoulder.”

Aramaki hesitates, fear flickering across his face. “I’m not a doctor… I might make it worse.”

“Just hold it,” Ryoma replies. “I’ll do the rest.”

Aramaki reaches out and grips Ryoma’s forearm, his hands cold and trembling.

In Ryoma’s vision, the system updates.

[ANGLE: 15° DOWNWARD | ROTATION: 5° INTERNAL]

Ryoma exhales slowly, then begins to move. His arm shifts carefully under controlled force, his jaw tightening as the pain spikes instantly, sharp and overwhelming.

“ARGH…!”

The sensation surges through him like a violent electric current, his muscles spasming in resistance as his body instinctively rejects the forced alignment.

But he doesn’t stop. His eyes remain fixed on the grid in the mirror, watching as the displaced bone begins to slide, millimeter by millimeter, toward its proper position.

“Almost there… just a little more…”

Then finally…

Dg!

***

[CALIBRATING POSITION… OPTIMAL ALIGNMENT REACHED]

***

His body goes slack immediately, the tension draining as cold sweat floods down his face.

***

[SUCCESS: RELOCATION COMPLETE]

[STATUS: MINOR SOFT TISSUE TRAUMA]

[ESTIMATED FUNCTIONAL RECOVERY: 14 DAYS]

[CRITICAL WINDOW: 48 HOURS FOR INFLAMMATION SUBSIDENCE]

***

Ryoma breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling as he grips his shoulder, now back in place, though the throbbing pain still lingers.

Aramaki blinks repeatedly, still trying to process what he just witnessed, his face pale with disbelief.

“You… you’re insane,” he mutters. “You actually fixed it yourself?”

Ryoma keeps his eyes on the mirror for a moment longer, watching as the fading grid dissolves from his shoulder.

“I just got lucky he wasn’t fully recovered when he locked my arm,” he says quietly, a strained smile forming despite the exhaustion. “Two weeks… and I’ll be back to normal.”