VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

For hours, Kenta doesn’t leave the room. Not because he’s exhausted anymore, but because he doesn’t want to face anyone.

Hunger comes and goes, thirst as well, but he lets both pass without giving them attention, lying still as if staying in one place is easier than dealing with anything outside of it.

In the afternoon, the door handle shifts, but it’s locked. Then Izumi’s voice comes through the door, bright in a way that doesn’t match the quiet inside.

“Ni-san? You in there? I heard you’re back.”

Kenta hears him clearly, but he doesn’t answer, pretending to be asleep.

A pause follows, the kind a child doesn’t quite know how to interpret. Izumi tries knocking the door, and their mother’s voice comes from further down the hall.

“Izumi, leave him alone. Your brother’s tired from the journey.”

There’s a small hesitation on the other side of the door, then the soft shuffle of footsteps retreating as the little brother stepping away.

Kenta stays still for a while after that, feeling a bit guilty. Izumi has always been too open, too quick to believe in him, always looking at him like he’s someone worth following. And Kenta just shut the door on him.

That feels worse, somehow. Kenta exhales slowly and finally pushes himself up from the bed, telling himself he’ll go out in a minute.

But before he reaches the door, his phone vibrates. Kenta pauses, and takes out the phone, the screen showing an unknown number.

A short hesitation, then he answers anyway.

“…Moriyama speaking.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end before a voice comes through.

[Kenta… it’s me. Reika. Sorry if I’m disturbing you.]

Kenta’s expression shifts slightly. He sits down again without noticing it, phone still pressed to his ear.

“Reika? How did you get my number?”

[I got it from Aki. I’m calling because there’s something I want to talk about with you. Are you free tomorrow?]

Kenta doesn’t respond immediately, because the question doesn’t fit neatly into anything he expected.

Reika has been around the gym often enough. Always present, always observing. But her interest has always been Ryoma. In all that time, she’s never really spoken to him beyond passing words.

Two years of seeing her around, and not once did it turn into an actual conversation. And now she’s calling him directly.

Kenta leans back slightly, eyes narrowing a little as curiosity replaces the dullness he had been sitting in.

“…yeah,” he says after a beat. “I’m free.”

***

The next evening.

Kenta steps through the entrance of The Peninsula Tokyo. This is a hotel, also the kind of place people choose when they want the evening to feel a little more refined than usual, where conversations stay low and unhurried.

For a second, Kenta wonders if this is really just dinner, the kind of place you’d pick when you want to make an impression. Or is this even a date, the thought sits awkwardly in his head.

He doesn’t have anything to compare it to. This kind of thing has never really been part of his life. Training, fights, recovery, that’s been everything for years.

And Reika, always been around the gym, but never really looking at him. Her attention has always been on Ryoma. So why him now?

Kenta lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself…” he murmurs under his breath before stepping inside.

He’s dressed for the setting, at least on the surface. The suit fits well, pressed clean, giving him a shape that doesn’t look out of place here.

But the bandage above his right temple, and the faint bruises along his cheek and jaw, breaks the illusion just enough to remind anyone looking that he doesn’t really belong in a place like this.

A staff member approaches, posture straight, but the look he gives Kenta isn’t neutral. His eyes linger in a way that feels off, the kind of look that sizes someone up and quietly finds them out of place.

But he recovers quickly. “Good evening, sir,” he says, voice smooth again. “Do you have an appointment?”

The tone is polite, but the condescension doesn’t fully disappear. Kenta shifts slightly under that look, clearing his throat as his hand brushes over the front of his jacket.

“Uh… yeah,” he says, a bit too quick at first, then steadies himself. “My name is Kenta Moriyama. I have a reservation… It should be under Reika Takamori.”

The words come out polite, but there’s a trace of awkwardness in them. The staff member gives a small nod, then glances down to check the reservation list.

“Moriyama… yes,” he says, before stepping aside and gesturing inward. “This way, please.”

As Kenta follows, he begins to feel the attention around him. It isn’t obvious or confrontational, but it’s there in the way a few glances linger a little longer than they should, in the slight pause of conversations as people take him in before looking away again.

In a place like this, no one stares, but everyone notices. And right now, with the battered look on his face, Kenta can’t blend in no matter how well the suit fits.

He keeps his gaze forward and continues walking, but something tightens quietly in his chest, a thought lingering that this might have been a mistake.

But then, Reika’s voice reaches him.

“Kenta! Over here.”

She is already seated, composed and at ease in a way that fits the place naturally, looking so charming as always. But Kenta barely takes that in. His attention settles immediately on the man across from her, Jackson Rhodes.

The awkwardness Kenta carried in with him fades without much trace, replaced by something steadier. His posture firms slightly, his gaze holding where it is as he steps closer, no longer unsure of himself in the same way as before.

“You made it,” Reika says in Japanese, her tone light, as if this is exactly what it appears to be.

Kenta answers without looking at her yet. “…Sorry… if I’m late,” he says, his English a little uneven, but he makes the effort so the foreign man can follow.

“You’re not,” Jackson says smoothly, cutting in with a voice that carries an easy confidence, polished and controlled. “We arrived earlier than necessary. Trying to adapt to the local custom.”

Kenta still can’t fully follows each word, but he keeps his eyes on him, his expression cooling, the silence on his side stretching just enough to make it clear he isn’t interested in playing along.

Reika notices it and steps in quickly. “Kenta… this is Jack. My brother.”

“Half-brother,” the man adds without missing a beat.

Kenta finally responds, his tone flat. “I know who you are.”

He pulls out the chair and sits without waiting to be invited, his attention shifting to Reika as he settles in.

“And I’ve heard what he did,” he continues, switching back to Japanese, his tone steady but edged, “back when we tried to win that controversial purse bid.”

His gaze flicks briefly toward Jackson, then returns to her. “Let me be clear,” he adds. “My English isn’t good enough for this kind of conversation. And honestly… I’m not comfortable with him being here. If I knew he’d be part of this, I wouldn’t have come.”

He holds her gaze, not raising his voice, but leaving no room to soften what he just said.

“So tell me, Reika… why did you ask me to come here?”

Reika clearly looks uncomfortable. But before she can speak, Jackson lets out a small chuckle, not mocking, more like he expected this. Then he replies, in Japanese, smooth and unhurried.

“That’s fair. You should be cautious.” He leans back slightly, relaxed. “And for the record, I appreciate the honesty.”

The moment Jackson answers in Japanese, Kenta’s expression shifts slightly, enough to show he’s taken it in. His eyes stay on Jackson, a little sharper now. The earlier edge in his tone doesn’t disappear, but it changes shape. Less confrontational, more careful.

Jackson lets that silence sit for a second, then speaks again, still in Japanese, his tone smooth and unhurried.

“First, let me say this,” he begins, seeming at ease without losing focus. “I’m sorry about your last fight. You should have won that. You turned it around. By the middle rounds, it was already shifting in your favor. Anyone who understands the sport could see that.”

His gaze stays steady on Kenta, not pressing, just stating it as if it were obvious.

“But…” he adds lightly, a faint exhale following, “that’s just how boxing is. The result doesn’t always reflect what actually happens in the ring.

“Keep it,” Kenta says immediately, his tone flat. “I don’t need your apology. I know people like you are the reason it happens.”

Jackson’s composure stays intact, a controlled smile resting on his face as he answers with a shrugs. “You’re right. I can make that kind of unfairness happen. And I can also make sure… it doesn’t happen to you ever again.”