VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Della Cruz stays in range and chains into a sequence of short hooks, his torso swaying side to side as he shifts the angles, turning each punch slightly to find a way through.

Dug. Dug. Thud! Dug. Bugh! Dug.

Five compact hooks, driven into the body from both sides, some digging wide into the arms, others sneaking tighter through the middle.

Most are absorbed on the guard and upper arms. But two slip through clean, thudding into the ribs and upper chest, forcing Kenta’s frame to tighten under the impact.

Kenta reacts quickly, firing a compact one-two in return, keeping it simple. But Dela Cruz reacts in time, his right glove knocks the jab off its line as he dips his head just enough to let the cross pass over.

His rear foot sliding back, knee bent. Then with almost no pause, he coils instantly, and a tight left shoots out from that position, snapping clean across Kenta’s face.

Dhuack!

Kenta’s head jerks back, a brief flash of white cutting through his vision. He holds his footing, though, stepping back twice as his guard closes in tight, folding into a shell.

“That was fast…” the lead commentator mutters.

“Even in close range, the champion’s reactions are sharp,” the second adds. “Everything is connected. There’s no delay in what he does.”

And Kenta feels it clearly. His every attempt to answer gets smothered and countered almost instantly, every opening closing just as quickly as it appears.

As the champion’s assault pins him on the ropes, the thoughts also press on Kenta’s head; that sense of being always a step behind, a sense of not having enough time to think.

“He’s getting smothered on the ropes here,” the lead commentator says, his tone tightening. “Dela Cruz is not giving him a room to breathe.”

“That’s the biggest problem right now,” the second adds. “Moriyama needs time to read, to process… but the champion’s not allowing it.”

“Everything’s coming too fast,” the lead continues. “Every time he tries to settle, there’s another punch right in front of him.”

“And that’s where Dela Cruz is at his best,” the second says. “He forces you to react before you’re ready. Once you’re stuck in that loop, you’re always a step behind.”

But in that pressure, something else begins to take shape in Kenta’s mind. This pace, this tight rhythm, the way the champion moves and reacts without hesitation, feels familiar now.

It’s the same kind of form Ryoma forced him to reach when he fought Liam Kuroda, where thinking had to keep up with movement, not slow it down.

Kenta exhales through his nose in understanding, steadying himself as he keeps his guard high, enduring the punches.

“And he’s still in there,” the lead commentator says, voice tightening. “Still taking the shots.”

Kenta understands fully now, if he wants to keep up here, then he has to reach that state again. Maybe, fighting this champion will help him slip into that zone.

I need to stop thinking now…

And fight back…

As a compact left slips behind his guard and hits his right side under the armpit, Kenta fires a compact left upper to the middle immediately, ignoring the pain.

The punch lands…

Dhuck!

…and snaps Dela Cruz’s head upward slightly.

“Oh! He fired right off the impact!”

But the champion’s left hand is already moving, a hook coming through that clips Kenta’s cheek from the side.

Dsh!

Again, Kenta ignores the pain and answers with a compact left hook upstairs.

Dela Cruz dips lower at the same moment and drives a tight liver shot downstairs.

Thud!

Kenta’s breath hitches, but he still fires, sending a sharp chopping right.

“They’re not even resetting anymore!” the lead calls out. “They keep trading punches without restrains.”

Dela Cruz reacts in time, catching it on his left glove, then comes back up with another compact hook upstairs.

Dsh!

Kenta’s head snaps to the side again. His instincts flare, and he moves for a clinch, but breaks it immediately, choosing to stay in the exchange.

No, I can’t stop here with a clinch…

I need to ride the flow…

They trade in the pocket as the champion pins him on the ropes. Every few punches, Dela Cruz slips one clean through.

Dug. Dug. Dsh!

Dug. Thud! Dug. Dug.

Kenta keeps firing back, even as most of his shots land on guard and upper arms.

Dug. Dug.

Dug. Dug. Dugh.

“They’re staying in the pocket! But this is not where Moriyama wants to be!”

“Because the champion is still landing the cleaner shots!”

From the blue corner, Nakahara sees clearly that Kenta is losing this exchange.

“Kenta! Why are you staying there!” he calls out. “Get out! Clinch if you have to! Don’t fight him like that!”

Kenta hears him, but ignores it. The champion’s compact punches keep finding their way through, but Kenta endures it.

Dela Cruz has traded some of his destructive power for this tight rhythm. The punches still hurt, and the damage still builds. But Kenta accepts it, because he needs it.

And gradually, he lets go of everything; strategy, caution, outcomes. He lets his body move on its own, lets the pain push him to the edge.

Another hook slips into his cheek, and Kenta answers instantly, his response coming the moment the impact lands.

Dhuack!

A stiff, compact left snaps into Dela Cruz’s face, halting him for a beat.

“Oh! That stopped him!”

The champion’s rear foot slides back slightly, but he drives forward again with a heavy right.

Kenta reacts in time, shifting just enough, letting the punch only knock his left glove back. But his own right fires at the same instant, a compact hook shooting out.

Dsh!

It snaps the champion’s head to the side.

“That’s two clean shots in a row from Moriyama!”

For the first time, Dela Cruz feels the exchange slipping from his control.

He tries to answer with a sharp jab and a tight right hook, thrown fast enough to ensure contact. The jab is blocked, but the hook lands on Kenta’s temple.

Dsh!

Still, Kenta fires back immediately, even as his head and body turns with the impact. His right hand drives upward at an angle, not quite an uppercut, more like a straight rising from below.

Della Cruz can’t react, and…

Dhuack!

The punch lands clean on the left side of his jaw despite the guard. His head twists sharply, his body freezing for a split second.

Kenta swings another right hook as he pulls his torso back into position, trying to build on the opening.

But the bell cuts in before it can land, and the referee steps in immediately, separating them and halting the exchange just as the moment begins to turn.

“Oh! That came right at the bell!” the lead commentator calls out, voice rising. “Moriyama was starting to find something there!”

“He was,” the second adds, still focused on the replay in his mind. “Those last exchanges… he was finally matching the timing. That was the first time the champion looked shaken in that kind of trade.”

Dela Cruz doesn’t move right away. For a brief moment, he just stands there, his posture slightly rigid, the echo of that last exchange still lingering in his body.

The bell seems to pull him back, snapping him out of it, and only then does he realize how narrowly he avoided what was coming next; another punch, already on its way, one he knows he wouldn’t have reacted to in time. But the bell saved him.

Soon after, his eyes lift toward Kenta, taking in the damage now that the fight has paused. There’s swelling along Kenta’s cheek, bruises forming across the arms and shoulders, and a thin line of blood running from the edge above the right brow, clear marks of everything he’s inflicted so far.

But Kenta doesn’t look like someone who’s been worn down. His stare is steady, distant, almost hollow. There’s no trace of discomfort in his expression, no sign that he acknowledges any of the damage.

There’s no taunt this time, no words, no attempt to provoke from Kenta. And somehow, that makes it worse. Dela Cruz feels something tighten in his chest, a flicker of irritation rising again.

“And… look at this,” the lead commentator cuts in, voice lowering slightly. “They’re still staring at each other after the bell.”

“Yeah… that’s a long look,” the second adds. “Neither of them turning away right now.”

“There’s something building here,” the lead continues. “You can feel it. That last exchange didn’t settle anything between them.”

The referee steps in between fighters, voice cutting through the moment as he gestures them back.

“Both of you! Back to your corners.”

Kenta turns first, already moving without a word. He follows the instruction quietly, his steps measured, his focus turned inward again.

He’s not fully there yet, not completely inside the zone. But he holds onto it, trying to stay as close to that edge as he can.

Meanwhile, Dela Cruz remains where he is for a moment longer, watching Kenta’s back as he walks away. Then, slowly, something shifts. The irritation fades, replaced by something steadier.

Finally…

A small exhale leaves him as the realization settles in. His gaze narrows slightly, a faint curve pulling at the corner of his mouth.

The beast is unchained.

And now I get to show everyone how I tame it.