VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The fourth round begins, and Takasugi steps out clean, but the difference is there now, impossible to miss if you know what to look for.

His posture is still composed, his guard still disciplined, but the sharpness from earlier rounds doesn’t return in full. The bounce in his step is less elastic. His feet still move, still circling, still searching for space. But there’s a fraction of a second where the rhythm doesn’t quite reconnect the way it used to.

He hasn’t taken many clean body shots. But the pressure from the previous round lingers, carried in his breathing, in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he no longer moves as freely as before. A single minute of rest wasn’t enough to clear it.

Across from him, Satoru steps forward again, unchanged. And that alone keeps the weight of the previous round from fading.

“Yoshitomo comes out the same way,” one of the commentators says, voice steady but edged with anticipation. “High guard, walking him down. If this keeps up, we might be looking at another high-intensity round like the last one.”

“Yeah, that pressure hasn’t gone anywhere,” the other adds. “The question is whether Takasugi can reestablish control before it turns into another brawl.”

Takasugi answers that question first. He steps in just enough to keep Satoru honest, snapping a quick jab toward in the middle, then dipping slightly to send a second shot into the body.

Chest, then midsection.

Dug.

Thud!

The first meets the guard. The second lands clean against the belly.

And Takasugi pulls back immediately, resetting his feet and drifting into a wide circle, keeping the distance where he’s safest.

But something in those punches doesn’t feel the same. From that brief exchange, Satoru can feel the jab isn’t as stiff as before. The contact doesn’t carry the same weight as Takasugi pulling his hand back too quick now, not driving it through the target the same way he did in the earlier rounds.

Satoru lowers his guard for a split second, just enough to take a closer look, then brings it back up, high and tight. He hasn’t thrown a single punch yet, but watching.

On Takasugi’s face, the tension is clear. His eyes stay locked in, sharp and reactive, but there’s strain behind it, a tightness that wasn’t there earlier in the first and second round.

His breathing sits a little higher, his focus more rigid, like he’s bracing for something that hasn’t come yet. There’s still the discomfort in him, and a trace of fear.

Satoru steps forward again, his right hand dropping slightly as he prepares to open up.

Takasugi reacts fast, snapping a jab into the right side of the chest…

Thud!

…and pulling it back immediately, almost reflexive, like he’s expecting something to come right after.

It scores, but the contact is light, more of a touch than a statement. The kind of punch Satoru is willing to absorb without a second thought.

So Satoru doesn’t hesitate. He steps in and starts pressing, closing the distance without giving Takasugi the room to reset. He doesn’t wait for clean openings, simply crowding the space, forcing Takasugi to react instead of dictate.

Every step forward narrows the ring, every feint of the shoulders threatening another surge, until the movement itself becomes pressure.

Takasugi keeps circling, trying to stay just outside range, but the space doesn’t hold the same way anymore.

Satoru follows through angles, cutting him off instead of chasing. And when he finally throws, it comes in bursts; heavy committed shots meant to disrupt, to collide, to make the exchange unavoidable.

Dug. Dug. Dug.

Even when they don’t land clean, they carry enough weight to keep Takasugi from settling, forcing him to move, reset, and give ground until his back meets the ropes.

“He’s walking him down now. This is completely different from earlier rounds!”

Then, with a few more wild shots crash into guard and upper arm…

Dug. Dug.

Dugh. Dugh.

DUGH!

…the space collapses completely. Takasugi is driven into the corner.

“Takasugi’s running out of space. He can’t reset. He’s getting trapped!”

“And Yoshitomo isn’t even looking for clean shots anymore. He’s just forcing the fight into him!”

Satoru doesn’t let the moment breathe. He steps in closer, not with another punch, but with his body. His guard presses forward, forearms meeting Takasugi’s guard, pinning them in place, locking him where he stands.

The last bit of space has been closed, until there’s nothing left between them. It’s chest to chest, no room, no distance to rebuild.

Takasugi feels it immediately, the weight, the presence, the heat of it. Their guards grind against each other, breath spilling into the same narrow space.

At this range, there’s no rhythm left to manage, only pressure, and the sound of each other breathing.

Yet, even after a few seconds in that position, Satoru still doesn’t throw anything, and that’s what finally pushes Takasugi to take the initiative.

But the moment his left guard shifts, even slightly, Satoru pulls back and swings.

Takasugi snaps his guard back up, and…

BOM. BOOM.

Two heavy blows crash into his left upper arm and right guard, the impact jolting through his frame.

And Satoru steps in again, closing it the same way as before, pressing his guard forward, sealing the distance.

It looks like nothing has changed, the same aggression, the same suffocating pressure. But this time, something is different.

Satoru waits, holding the position, feeling the contact, reading the small movements. And when Takasugi’s left glove twitches again, Satoru moves.

Three heavy swings crash forward in a burst, forcing Takasugi back into his shell.

BOM. BOM. BOOM.

Then Satoru closes in again, guard to guard, chest to chest, holding him there, waiting, studying.

He still looks like a madman from the outside. But inside, his mind is steady.

The instruction Ryoma gave him for this round is simple.

It’s time you learn to read your opponent.

Start with something basic.

The rhythm of his breathing.

And the look on his face when the punches come.

After that short moment of break, Takasugi’s glove twitch again, the intention to throw something is clear.

And again, Satoru pulls back, creating a bit of space, and provoking to trade punches. He braces for the impact, willing to receive any incoming punch, while also reading how the opponent react.

And again, Takasugi’s crippled under pressure, and tightens his guard.

Satoru swings hard, slamming his gloves on the guard.

Dug. Dug.

BOM. BOM. BOOM.

He closes the space again, pressing the guard forward like before. And this time, knowing so sure the opponent’s mental condition, he doesn’t need to wait anymore.

A bit more pressure builds against Takasugi’s right guard, and Satoru slips in a short left hook downstairs.

Takasugi doesn’t react, keeping his guard in place. And the hook lands clean on the ribs.

Thud!

“He finally snuck that one in! Right under the guard!”

Satoru presses forward again, gloves driving into Takasugi’s guard, pinning both hands in place before he lets his next sequence go. This time, it’s not just blind swing. He’s actually picking up his targets.

Two blows to fix the guard, the third thudding into the upper arm, and the fourth, a left hook digging under the armpit.

Dug. Dug.

DUGH. THUD!

And he closes it again, pressing the guard forward, getting back to the same position.

“He’s not just swinging anymore. He’s placing them now!”

“And Takasugi can’t answer! He’s stuck behind that guard with nowhere to go!”

In the red corner, Takasugi’s second leans over the ropes, voice cutting through sharp and urgent.

“Don’t stay there, Renjiro! Get out of that spot!”

“Don’t let him work on you! Move!”

But Takasugi’s mind is a mess now under that constant pressure. And to Satoru, the fight becomes so much simple. He drives another pressure on Takasugi’s right glove with his left glove, then sends two blows to the side using the same left.

Thud! Dug.

The first lands clean, the second hitting the arm as Takasugi finally shifts his guard to cover that side.

Satoru closes in again by pressing his high guard forward, only for a bit, before making the exact same strike…

Dug. Dug.

…both slamming on solid guard this time.

That’s enough to tell Satoru that there’s opening upstairs, and he quickly sends a left hook to the head.

DSH!

“OOH! THAT HITS HOME!!!”

As Takasugi’s head swings to the side, Satoru follows it up with two straight punches.

Takasugi covers his face with double guard in time…

DUGH. DUGH.

They only land on forearms, but still, the impact knocks his body to the back, leaving space on the midsection as his torso straightening to the ropes.

And Satoru dips lower, slamming two body blows there.

BAM! BAM!!!

Takasugi is stunned for a moment, both knees swing. However, he forces swinging two wild punches, finally, refusing to give in to pressure

The first hits Satoru on the side, and the second brushing his forearm on angled guard.

Bugh! Drush.

Satoru pulls back, giving just enough space while keeping his guard high. Takasugi follows, hammering forward, his punches coming as a release from everything he’s been forced to endure.

But it’s exactly the response they were expecting. Ryoma’s words from the break still sit clear in Satoru’s head.

“If he’s broken under pressure, pick him apart to force a referee stop.”

“But if he retaliates, that’s the kind of exchange we are waiting for. Go for it.”

Now that Takasugi starts trading, driven by what little pride he has left, refusing to look like he’s a coward, Satoru answers in kind, lowering his guard and meeting him head-on.

Dug. Dsh! Bugh! Dug. Bugh!

“Oooh! “They’re trading now! Both of them!”

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

“No defense at all! They’re just throwing to make a point!”

“Shots are landing on both sides. This is turning into a fight of will!”