VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

As Kurogane and Dr. Mizuno step out of the meeting room, a hint of relief shows on their faces, though the concern hasn’t fully left them.

“That takes care of the doctor,” he says. “But Ryoma’s shoulder… it can still slip out in the middle of the fight.”

Dr. Mizuno nods slightly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t. And if it does, he can put it back in place again, just like before.” He adds, with a faint edge, “And no one’s going to step in and stop the fight for the wrong reason.”

“Let’s hope so,” Kurogane mutters. Then, after a beat, “If I’m being honest… being involved with this gym brings problems I’ve never seen before. It’s like the whole world wants them to fail.”

That line lingers just long enough for something to click in Mizuno’s mind.

“The whole world?” he repeats. “You say that like you’re ignoring the support around you. From me. From Aqualis. From the supporters, both in Japan and outside.”

Kurogane gives a faint, bitter smile, but before he can respond, a voice cuts in ahead of them.

“Good evening, Dr. Mizuno. My apologies if I’m interrupting.”

They both stop. Mizuno turns, brows lifting slightly as he studies the woman in front of them. There’s a brief pause as he searches his memory, but nothing comes up. He’s certain they’ve never met before this.

The woman smiles and extends her hand. “Elena Davies. Consultant psychiatrist, specializing in trauma and dissociative disorders.”

Mizuno blinks once, the confusion palpable in his face. “…A psychiatrist?”

She nods lightly, still smiling. “I’m a colleague of Dr. Matthew Hale. He was the physician who handled Ryoma after his fight with Jade McConnel back in Melbourne.”

Mizuno’s gaze shifts slightly as he searches his memory again, this time finding something. After a moment, he lifts his head and gives a small nod.

“Ah… Dr. Matthew Hale. I remember him.” He pauses before asking, “Did he send you to me? Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Not exactly,” Dr. Davies replies. “Dr. Hale shared Ryoma’s case with me at the time, particularly regarding the blackout he experienced. He had no recollection of nearly the last minute inside the ring before he collapsed and was taken to the hospital.”

Kurogane’s expression tightens slightly as he processes what he just heard. He remembers the Melbourne fight clearly, having watched it himself on TV, but this is the first time he’s hearing about any blackout.

No one at the gym ever brought it up, not Nakahara, not even Ryoma. The detail unsettles him more than he expects, stirring both curiosity and a quiet sense of unease.

Still, the thought doesn’t hold him for long. The urgency of the present returns just as quickly.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Mizuno,” he says, already shifting his weight. “I need to get back to the locker room.”

“Sure,” Mizuno answers. “I’ll follow in a bit.”

Kurogane glances once toward Dr. Davies, curiosity clear in his eyes. She meets it with a polite smile and a slight nod, and he returns the gesture briefly.

“Excuse me,” he says, before turning and walking off, his steps quick and purposeful down the corridor.

After a moment, Elena Davies gently draws Mizuno’s attention back to her.

“So… how is he doing?”

Mizuno turns slightly. “Ryoma?”

Davies nods. “His preparation. Conditioning. Did it go well?”

“Not really,” Mizuno answers. “There were… interruptions. One of them involved guns.”

That makes her pause, interest sharpening immediately as she leans in just a little closer. “So it’s true? He dodged bullets?”

Mizuno gives a small shrug. “Something like that. Though he didn’t come out unscathed. One of them grazed him, left a burn along the skin.”

For a brief moment, Davies doesn’t hide her reaction. Her brows lift, eyes widening slightly as she exhales under her breath.

“…That’s… difficult to believe,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

Mizuno watches her for a second, then cuts in, his tone more direct now. “You didn’t come all the way to the Philippines just to verify that rumor, right? Unless you’re a serious boxing fan and attend this event to watch his fight.”

Davies shakes her head lightly. “No, not really. I don’t follow boxing that closely.” She pauses, choosing her words. “But there are… phenomena here that I understand in theory, yet didn’t expect to observe this clearly in practice.”

Her gaze sharpens slightly. “Like the flow state athletes sometimes enter. You know what I mean. Like what we just saw earlier… with Kenta Moriyama.”

Mizuno studies her for a moment, then nods faintly as the connection begins to form.

“So you’re here to observe flow state?”

“You could say that,” Davies replies. “Although, to be honest… I’m more interested in Ryoma in a specific way than flow state itself.”

That draws a slight shift in Mizuno’s expression. “You say that as if his case is different.”

“It is,” Davies answers without hesitation. “I don’t know how often fighters enter a flow state at this level. But a blackout… where the subject has no memory, yet continues to function, to fight, and even perform beyond expected limits…that’s rare”

She lets the thought hang for a fraction of a second before adding, “I can understand a few seconds of response under unconscious conditions. Reflex. Muscle memory. That happens. But sustaining that for over a minute… That’s not normal.”

Mizuno falls silent for a moment, his thoughts turning inward. The memory surfaces on its own, that one of the strongest reasons he accepted Fujimoto’s offer to work as Ryoma’s nutrition specialist was because of this exact kind of curiosity. The unknown. The edge cases that didn’t quite fit into clean explanations.

And now, hearing Davies speak, that strange moment in Melbourne begins to take on a different weight.

His eyes lift slightly, settling back on her. “…Are you suggesting there might be signs of a split personality in Ryoma Takeda?”

Davies gives a small nod, and there is nothing casual in her expression now. It has sharpened into something far more serious.

“Blackouts are one of the most common indicators in Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says. “I’ve reviewed all of his fights. In most cases, what he displays can still be explained through flow state. Heightened focus, accelerated processing, instinctive execution.”

She pauses briefly before adding, “But what happened in the fifth round against Jade McConnel… that was different. He didn’t just look focused.”

Her gaze steadies. “It was as if…”

“…something else was in control,” Mizuno finishes quietly.

Davies nods again, without hesitation. Then she studies him for a moment before asking, “How close are you to him?”

“Professionally,” Mizuno answers. “I wouldn’t say I know him on a personal level. But I’ve been around him consistently during his conditioning phase, since the McConnel fight.”

“Have you noticed anything unusual during training?” she asks.

Mizuno shakes his head slowly. “Not exactly. He behaves like an athlete should.” He pauses, then adds, “Though I wouldn’t say he’s like an ordinary person either.”

He exhales once, searching for the right way to put it. “Sometimes I find it difficult to pin down his character. Not because he’s closed off… but because he’s expressive. Just…” He hesitates slightly. “The way he expresses himself shifts. Depending on the situation. Depending on who he’s dealing with.”

Davies tilts her head slightly. “As if he isn’t the same person?”

Mizuno frowns faintly. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He pauses again, eyes drifting upward for a brief second as he gathers his thoughts.

“If I had to describe it… I’d say he has a kind of adaptive intelligence. The ability to adjust his mood, his demeanor, even his presence, depending on what’s in front of him.”

He looks back at her. “But to call it Dissociative Identity Disorder… that feels like a stretch.”

For a few moments, Davies processes his explanation, her head giving small, thoughtful nods as she tries to align everything she has just heard with what she already knows.

Then something shifts in her expression, as if she has remembered a detail she had set aside earlier. She reaches into her bag and carefully takes out a sealed document sleeve.

“There’s one more thing I’d like to show you,” she says, handing it over.

Mizuno accepts it and opens it with measured caution, pulling out the image inside. His eyes scan across it slowly, adjusting his focus as he studies the scan.

“An MRI?” he says. “Whose brain is this?”

“That’s Ryoma Takeda’s,” Davies replies. “Taken by Dr. Hale in Melbourne.”

Mizuno continues to look at it for a moment longer, then his expression shifts into mild confusion. The scan is detailed, but nothing immediately jumps out as abnormal to him. It is outside his specialization, and from what he can recognize, there is nothing obviously alarming.

After a moment, he looks back up at her. “Is there something I’m supposed to be seeing here?”

Davies doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she steps slightly closer and tilts the image in her hands so the light catches a specific region.

“Here,” she says quietly.

Mizuno follows her indication, narrowing his eyes.

“There’s a small formation,” she continues, her voice now more focused. “Deep in the limbic area.”

She traces the region without touching the image itself.

“It’s subtle. Almost easy to dismiss. At first glance, it could be mistaken for a minor lesion, possibly even a very early-stage tumor.”