VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

One of the judges seated at center marks his card, awarding the round to Dela Cruz. As he finishes, his gaze shifts to the left, checking the score of the official beside him, and sees the same scoring written there. Then his eyes move to the right, and this time the result is different.

A slight twitch touches his brow before he glances back to the left, and for a brief moment the two share a look that says enough without words.

Their attention shifts toward Hugo Ramirez at ringside, who remains seated with a composed posture, his expression unreadable.

When their eyes meet his, Ramirez offers no acknowledgment, no signal of any kind, and yet that very absence of reaction feels deliberate, as if the understanding has already been settled without needing to be shown.

Right beside him, however, Jackson Rhodes catches the exchange as it happens and leans slightly toward Ramirez, just enough to keep his voice low.

“So, did you manage to buy all three?” he asks, a faint smirk forming.

Ramirez takes a slow breath before answering, his eyes remaining on the ring.

“Just two,” he says. “And that’s enough.”

Jackson nods, the smirk widening slightly as he gives a small shrug before settling back into his seat.

“My eyes are good enough to read where this is going,” he says, his gaze returning to the ring. “At this rate, the challenger’s going to take over by the fifth or sixth. Just hope the champion doesn’t do anything stupid and get himself knocked out before the scorecards matter.”

Ramirez’s jaw tightens, a clear sign of irritation. He doesn’t like how casually Jackson brings it up, especially out in the open.

Meanwhile, unaware of what is unfolding behind the scenes, Nakahara welcomes Kenta back with a restrained sense of satisfaction, his eyes studying him closely as he settles onto the stool.

“Good,” he says. “You finally took control of the fight.”

Kurogane folds his arms beside him, nodding slightly. “And from the way he reacted, the champion doesn’t look like someone who can hold himself back for long. He’s getting irritated, and it’s starting to show in how he fights.”

Kenta only listens first, steadying his breathing, his shoulders rising and falling as the tension slowly leaves his body.

“Yeah…” he finally nods, “I noticed that in the middle of the round. That’s why I pushed him a little during the clinch.”

Kurogane raises a brow. “Oh? In English, I assume? Otherwise, that would’ve been pointless.”

“In English, of course,” Kenta replies, a bit awkward, though he tries to sound confident. “I just hope my pronunciation wasn’t too bad and he got what I’m saying.”

Kurogane lets out a short laugh. “Oh, he definitely got the message. You could see it right after the clinch. He wasn’t the same.”

Nakahara lowers himself into a crouch in front of Kenta, his expression calm but sharp. “That’s how it usually goes with fighters who rely too much on their confidence,” he says. “Once things stop going their way, they easily get irritated. And once they get irritated, they start losing control.”

Kenta lets out a small chuckle. “Reminds me of someone… I think you know who I mean.”

Nakahara smiles faintly. “Of course. I know exactly what it’s like dealing with him.”

His eyes then shift briefly toward the red corner. “And I imagine the champion’s coach is dealing with the same thing right now. Having a good champion who can’t keep himself together because he’s getting frustrated.”

He then turns back to Kenta and lightly rubs the top of his head before speaking again. “Honestly, that’s what I endure when dealing with Ryoma’s impatience.”

The remark draws a small laughter from the corner. Not only Kenta, but Kurogane, Hiroshi, and Okabe all let out brief chuckles at the comparison.

Nakahara simply watches them with a calm expression. He lets the moment pass without interruption, understanding that Kenta needs it to stay loose, to avoid carrying too much tension into the fight.

But his tone shifts again after a moment, becoming more serious. “Still, don’t forget,” he says. “Ryoma has never lost. The same confidence that makes him difficult also pushes him forward even in bad situations. And the same can apply to our opponent tonight.”

His gaze stays on Kenta. “He’s a champion who has held that belt for almost three years without a loss. Don’t make the mistake of thinking this fight is going to get easier.”

The laughter fades naturally, replaced by focus. Kenta nods once, his expression settling as his eyes return fully to the ring.

“Of course,” he says. “I never expected it to be easy tonight.”

***

Back in the red corner, Dela Cruz is still carrying the frustration from the previous round. And just like Nakahara predicts, Hermosa is currently having a hard time dealing with the champion’s tantrum.

“That damn old ass…” Della Cruz mutters. “He’s looking down on me. Who does he think he is? Just because he landed a few light shots, he thinks he can humiliate me like that.”

“The reason he was able to land those shots is because you lost your composure,” Hermosa says, his tone firm. “You started forcing exchanges just to make a point. For the next round, we go back to the original plan. Take control again. Break him down with steady, measured pressure. Don’t get drawn in, don’t overcommit, and don’t throw wide swings. Stay disciplined. You hear me?”

Dela Cruz exhales sharply, still visibly annoyed. “I hear you,” he says. “But I don’t care anymore. I’ll handle him my own way. I’ll step in deeper this time, shut down that lazy swaying of his, and I’ll hit him so hard he regrets ever disrespecting me.”

Hermosa’s expression tightens immediately. “Too risky at this point. He’s not just any opponent. He’s durable, and he’s comfortable in close range. Trading like that this early is not the answer. Have you forgotten how you’ve kept that belt all this time? You win by controlled pressure, relentless but calculated. You only take risks when the opponent is already breaking.”

Dela Cruz turns his eyes sharply toward him. “Yes, that’s exactly how I’ve kept my title for three years,” he says. “But have you forgotten how I took that belt from Jesse Carter?”

Hermosa goes silent. His expression hardens, clearly unhappy with the direction of the conversation, but he doesn’t push further.

“Fine,” he says at last. “Do what you want. Just don’t come back here blaming me if you lose that belt.”

Dela Cruz leans forward slightly, eyes still burning with irritation.

“I don’t care about the belt right now,” he replies. “A title means nothing if I can’t shut up someone who disrespects me.”

***

And indeed, when the bell for the fourth round sounds…

Ding!

…Dela Cruz surges forward immediately, closing the distance with a kind of urgency that feels less controlled than before.

There is no careful buildup in his entry this time, no measured readjustment of range.

“You think you are that strong, huh?”

“Let’s slug it out here. Don’t you run away from me now.”

It looks as if the belt itself no longer weighs on him. What drives him now is something simpler and sharper, the sting of pride, the refusal to accept Kenta’s words about him being tired after just three rounds.

“He’s coming out fast,” the lead commentator says at once, noticing the shift. “Dela Cruz is not easing into this round at all.”

“And it doesn’t look structured like before,” the second adds. “This is much more aggressive. He’s stepping in like he wants to impose himself immediately.”

His early rounds have always been considered aggressive enough by most fans. But this time it reaches another level entirely, far more intense, far less restrained.

Dela Cruz throws the first shot without hesitation, then cuts the space immediately, following it with another heavy blow before the distance is even properly set.

Kenta can’t fully negate it with the pendulum step and instead settles into a tight guard, lowering his center of gravity to absorb the pressure.

BOM! BOOM!!!

The punches come wider now, heavier, less disciplined than in the earlier rounds, more driven by intent than control.

Kenta’s stance wavers under the impact even though he blocks the shots cleanly. A numbness runs through both forearms, lingering just long enough to delay any immediate counter.

“Maaan… he’s not holding anything back with those punches.”

The rhythm that once felt tight and segmented begins to break apart as he forces exchanges that don’t fully develop into clean sequences.

“This is different from what we’ve seen so far,” the lead continues, voice rising slightly. “He’s not pacing himself. He’s just going forward.”

“And you can see it in the shape of the punches,” the second responds. “They’re not as compact. He’s opening up more, trying to overwhelm rather than structure his attack.”

Kenta keeps his guard tight, absorbing the next wave and shifting with the pressure. But before he can create another step of distance, the champion is already back inside his space, throwing from wider, less straight angles, his shoulders turning more aggressively.

DUGH. DUGH. DUGH.

Hooks crash into Kenta’s guard and upper arms from both sides, each impact forcing his structure to tighten under the pressure.

The champion then shifts the angle on the next shot, coming from a lower line and driving upward.

Kenta reads it and drops his guard slightly to absorb it cleanly, but…

BAM!!!

The impact jolts his left arm upward and knocks his torso off-line, tilting him back toward his right side.

The champion is briefly open after the heavy shot, but Kenta can’t simply throw a counter from his compromised position. He chooses to step back instead, bracing himself for the next surge as three more heavy punches come straight down the middle.

DUGH. DUGH. DUGH.

The crowd reacts to the sudden change in tempo, a noticeable swell of noise building as the champion presses forward with visible aggression.

“The champion’s gone into a much more reckless rhythm here,” the lead commentator says. “Still dangerous, but you can see the impatience creeping in.”

“And Moriyama is taking a lot here,” the second adds. “Even when the guard holds, you can see the damage in the way he’s being forced to absorb and reset. He’s not really getting a chance to respond.”

Dela Cruz continues pressing forward, throwing again and again, his combinations growing looser as Kenta is no longer able to maintain that slow, swaying rhythm.