VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The noise from the arena still bleeds faintly into Nakahara’s camp locker room. On the flat screen mounted against the wall, the replay runs again, the moment Cortez folds, the final punch, the collapse. It loops without mercy, forcing the scene to linger longer than it needs to.

Ryohei lets out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he watches it again. “This guy’s insane…” he mutters, then louder, unable to hold it in, “First Miyamoto Rikiya with one punch, and now this? One round? On his first international fight?”

He glances sideways, expecting some kind of reaction. But Kenta doesn’t give him one. He keeps moving, working through his shadowboxing in front of the mirror. His stance is solid, his punches structured, but his face stays blank, his focus turned inward rather than toward the screen.

Ryoma, standing not far from the wall, watches the replay just as quietly, his expression no different.

Ryohei clicks his tongue, disappointed. “You two are no fun.”

And still, there’s no response from them, not even a glance exchanged, just that same flat, unreadable silence lingering.

“Seriously,” Ryohei presses, turning more fully toward them. “Not even a ’that was amazing’? I mean, look at that finish.”

Ryoma exhales lightly, his gaze still on the screen. “He got lucky.”

Ryohei frowns. “Lucky?”

“His opponent was too overconfident,” Ryoma replies, tone calm, almost indifferent. “Too busy talking. Too busy trying to play with him.”

There’s a small pause before he adds, “And don’t forget who pointed that out. That fatal weakness on his opponent.”

Ryohei rolls his eyes immediately. “Yeah, yeah… you’re the best. We all know.”

He lets out a short scoff, though there’s no real bite behind it. “What’s wrong with you, though? Just admit it… it was a good win. I thought you were close with Aramaki.”

“I am,” Ryoma answers without hesitation. “Of course I’m glad he won.”

His eyes flick once more to the replay, where Aramaki is still being overwhelmed in the opening exchange.

“But he started that round badly,” he continues.

Ryohei’s expression shifts slightly as he follows Ryoma’s gaze, and he admits it too. Aramaki started it terribly, had been pushed back, stuck reacting, unable to find his rhythm.

“…Can’t blame him though,” Ryohei admits, scratching the back of his head. “If anything, that part’s on me. I’m the one they’re targeting. That situation didn’t just mess with me. It affected the entire camp.”

Ryohei lets that sink in, his attention drifting back to the screen. The room falls into a brief silence, filled only by the faint echo of the broadcast and the soft rhythm of Kenta’s movement. His knuckles cut through the air with steady precision, his feet shifting lightly across the floor.

Moments later, Ryoma’s attention drifts away from the screen and settles on Kenta instead. There’s nothing obviously wrong with him. The form is correct, the timing measured, the balance intact.

But to Ryoma’s eyes, it doesn’t feel right. Every movement looks controlled, yet something about it feels restrained, like it’s being forced into place rather than flowing naturally.

Ryoma watches for a moment longer, then steps closer, catching Kenta’s punch mid-motion. And Kenta stops his shadowboxing immediately.

“To be honest,” Ryoma says, holding the knuckle for just a second before letting it go, “your punches aren’t as sharp as usual.”

Kenta pulls his hand back, silent for a moment, then resumes shadowboxing. This time, there’s a slight adjustment, more intent behind the motion, a bit more speed.

But to Ryoma, it only looks like an effort to compensate.

“No,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “This won’t do.”

Kenta slows, then stops altogether, exhaling through his nose. “…Any advice?”

“The same thing I’ve been telling you,” Ryoma replies. “At this level, everyone reacts fast. Even the ones who fight with strategy or psychological tricks. They’re used to it. It doesn’t weigh them down. It doesn’t make them hesitate.”

Kenta glances at him. “And you think I’m not there yet?”

“This isn’t about ability,” Ryoma says. “It’s about experience. You don’t have that many fights, and you haven’t been in this kind of environment often enough.”

Before Kenta can respond, Ryohei cuts in with a smirk. “Says the guy with, what, ten fights? Eleven?”

Ryoma shrugs. “I’m a special case.” There’s a faint grin on his face, but it doesn’t linger. “You can use me as a reference. Just don’t use me as a comparison.”

Ryohei clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing as he shoots Ryoma an irritated look. “Yeah, yeah… there it is again,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders with a scoff.

Ryoma ignores him, his focus returns to Kenta. “If you’re not at that level yet, don’t make things harder for yourself. Don’t overcomplicate it. Go back to the basics. Keep it simple.”

Kenta listens, his expression tightening slightly.

“As long as your reactions are right, and you stay honest and disciplined, you won’t give your opponent many openings,” Ryoma adds. “Let him work for it. Let him expose himself.”

Kenta nods slowly, taking a breath as he tries to clear his head. He resumes shadowboxing, this time with a slightly different rhythm.

For a brief stretch, it looks sharper, cleaner. But it fades just as quickly. He slows, then stops again, hands dropping as something else creeps back into his mind, weighing him down.

“…If I can get back into that zone,” he says, almost to himself, “my chances would be better.”

Without waiting, he steps over, picks up the mitt pads, and holds them out toward Ryoma.

Ryoma blinks, momentarily caught off guard, but takes them anyway. After that, Kenta turns and grabs his gloves, starting to put them on properly.

“Help me warm up,” he says. “Mittwork. Like that time… like before my fight with Liam Kuroda.”

Ryoma’s brows lift, now he understands what he’s asking for. But then he exhales, already shaking his head.

“…Sorry. I can’t.”

Kenta pauses, looking up at him, a hint of frustration showing now. But Ryoma simply rolls his right shoulder slightly before explaining.

“This past week, I’ve been focusing on my left arm as I’m planning to limit the use of my right.”

Kenta frowns. “Your shoulder still isn’t fully recovered?”

“I can fight with it,” Ryoma replies. He pauses briefly before adding, “But I don’t feel certain with it. There’s still a risk it could dislocate again. And I’m only taking that risk in the ring.”

His gaze sharpens slightly. “Not here. Not doing mittwork with a strong welterweight like you. If you hold back, it won’t work. And if you don’t, I’m the one taking unnecessary risk.”

Kenta understands the implication immediately, yet there’s still disappointment in his face. But before he can respond, the locker room door swings open.

Noise floods in with it. Okabe and Hiroshi burst inside first, still riding the high from the fight, their voices filling the room instantly.

“Did you see that?!” Hiroshi shouts, grabbing Aramaki by the shoulders. “Did you guys see how he dropped his opponent?”

Okabe laughs loudly, unable to hold himself back as he ruffles Aramaki’s hair again. “That body shot… what was that? He folded like he got hit by a truck!”

Aramaki looks overwhelmed, still trying to process everything, his body moving along with them more than on his own.

Ryoma and Kenta both glance over, the moment slipping for just a second. Then Ryoma turns back to him, voice quieter now, more grounded.

“I’ve shown you the way,” he says. “Try finding that path again… this time on your own.”

Kenta’s shoulders drop slightly. The disappointment is still there, but he doesn’t push it further. Instead, he finishes putting on his gloves and turns toward Nakahara.

“Sir… help me warm up,” he says. “I think my body’s starting to cool down.”

Nakahara glances once at Ryoma, then at the mitt pads still in his hand. He walks over without saying anything and takes them.

His eyes linger for just a moment on Ryoma’s right shoulder before he turns away.

“Come on,” he says simply. “We won’t have much time.”

Kenta nods and sets his stance.

The mittwork begins immediately. The rhythm is clean and sharp. Every punch lands with proper structure, every movement guided with precision.

Nakahara’s timing is exact, his control unquestionable. There’s nothing wrong with it. No one could doubt it, not even Ryoma.

And yet, as Kenta moves through the sequence, something feels off, and he can sense it clearly himself. It isn’t his technique, nor his form, not even the angles or the timing, because all of that is still there. But there’s something missing, something just out of reach no matter how he tries to grasp it.

Back then, before the Liam Kuroda fight, Ryoma didn’t just guide his movements. He read him beyond the surface, beyond what showed in his stance or rhythm. He understood what was happening inside him, and knew exactly how to push, how to provoke, how to pull that hidden edge out.

It wasn’t just about sharpening technique or refining form. With that uncanny sense of his, Ryoma drew something deeper from Kenta, something buried past habit and training. And ever since that night, Kenta hasn’t been able to reach that place again.