VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Meanwhile, in Tokyo, it is already the early afternoon of December 31st. The city slowly moves toward New Year’s Eve. But inside Nakahara’s gym, the atmosphere remains mostly unchanged.

Training is still supposed to continue as usual today as Ryohei and Okabe both have fights scheduled for February, and nobody here wants to lose momentum just because the calendar is changing.

Discipline inside this gym has always been built through repetition more than motivation. At least, that had been the plan.

Now, however, nearly everyone in the gym has crowded themselves into Nakahara’s painfully small office instead. The narrow room feels suffocating with this many people inside.

“Move your shoulder, idiot, I can’t see the screen.”

“I’m literally standing against the wall already.”

“Then stop being tall.”

“That’s not something I can control.”

“Shut up, it’s starting.”

Seated in the middle of the worn sofa, Nakahara exhales heavily through his nose while folding his arms across his chest.

“You people were supposed to be training,” he mutters.

Nobody listens to him. Ryohei and Okabe remain completely focused on the television now as the live broadcast from Las Vegas continues playing across the screen.

Even if Shimamura is no longer part of this gym, nobody here truly sees him as a stranger. Especially for Kenta, who’s known Shimamura all the way back to middle school when Shimamura still followed him around as an underclassman.

Onscreen, both fighters remain inside their respective corners beneath the overwhelming brightness of the Las Vegas arena while the commentators continue building anticipation before the opening bell.

“This is a massive risk for Elliot Graves! Fourth-ranked WBC contender, world-level experience, years of elite competition…”

“…Shimamura Suzuki has become impossible to ignore lately! People can joke about the nickname all they want, but this man keeps winning fights in ways that frankly don’t make sense.”

Near the television, Okabe suddenly leans forward excitedly.

“C’mon, Shimamura! Beat his ass!”

“Relax, Okabe…” Ryohei mutters beside him. “The fight hasn’t even started yet.”

“It’s called building momentum.”

“You are being annoying.”

“Hm…” Nakahara narrows his eyes slightly while watching Shimamura on the screen. “He actually looks quietly prepared for this fight. His face doesn’t look like he hasn’t slept for two days this time.”

Behind the cluttered desk nearby, Kurogane casually lifts his coffee cup. “Maybe he finally found better motivation now that he’s fighting under a bigger company in America. Or maybe somebody over there finally figured out how to force discipline into him.”

Sitting on the edge of the worn sofa, Ryoma quietly continues watching the screen without joining the conversation. The moment the opening bell rings and both fighters step toward center ring, his Vision Grid system begins working inside his head.

***

Vision Grid Analysis — Shimamura Suzuki

Opening Round Examination

Foot response: clean.

Weight transfer: stable.

Knee alignment during forward movement: properly balanced.

Hip rotational support: no visible hesitation.

Surface sweat condition indicates healthier pre-fight preparation than previous bouts.

Skin dryness reduced.

No obvious dehydration tension around cheekbones or neck muscles.

Initial jab sequence observed.

Jab extension: smoother than previous recorded performances.

Shoulder rotation: cleaner.

Glove recovery speed after retraction: improved.

Residual fatigue stiffness: currently minimal.

Comparative assessment against Shinichi Yanagimoto bout: Physical condition significantly improved.

Preliminary conclusion: Shimamura Suzuki entered tonight’s fight in noticeably better physical condition than usual.

***

Elliot Graves begins increasing the pressure. Even through the television broadcast, the difference in his approach is obvious.

“…He seems unusual tonight,” Ryoma says, his eyes narrowing.

Okabe turns toward him. “You mean Shimamura?”

“Him too,” Ryoma says calmly. “But Elliot Graves is different as well. This isn’t how he usually starts a fight.”

“…Maybe they already understand him,” Nakahara says. “They probably know about Shimamura’s fight while being in the Zone. And the conditions he usually needs to reach it.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” Kenta says quietly. “He’s fighting a world-level boxer now. What if they find a way to break him before the Zone even starts showing its effect?”

The room gradually grows quieter as the round continues unfolding, because despite Shimamura’s noticeably better condition tonight, something about the flow of the fight still feels uncomfortable to watch.

He barely throws anything back, focuses primarily on absorbing punches behind that stiff double-door guard. And the longer it continues, the more unsettling it becomes.

“He’s blocking too much,” Ryohei mutters quietly.

“Yeah,” Okabe says. “He’s barely fighting back.”

Even Ryoma continues watching silently now. The system running inside his head keeps processing movement patterns one after another while Shimamura remains trapped beneath Elliot’s increasingly aggressive Soviet rhythm.

Then suddenly, Elliot whips a lazy lead hook toward the side of Shimamura’s head.

DSH!

“Ooh! Graves lands the hook clean!”

And the office reacts immediately, confusion spreading at the sheer strangeness of Shimamura failing to react to such kind of a punch.

“Come on, man…” Okabe groans loudly. “How could you not see that coming?”

But Ryoma’s eyes narrow sharply as Shimamura turns back toward the incoming right cross, catching the subtle shift in his expression.

“…No,” Ryoma mutters quietly. “He took that punch on purpose.”

Almost simultaneously, Shimamura tilts his head slightly while parrying Elliot’s incoming cross.

The glove still grazes his cheek at a terrible angle.

And then…

DHUACK!

The short right hand lands directly against Elliot’s face.

Shimamura immediately slips outside the angle and circles smoothly toward Elliot’s flank, drifting all the way behind him before reclaiming center ring.

The office falls silent for a brief second afterward. Shimamura’s posture has already changed. His stance hangs loose now, full of openings.

To most people watching, it simply looks sloppy. But inside Ryoma’s Vision Grid system, the cues begin aligning almost instantly.

***

Vision Grid Analysis — Shimamura Suzuki

Mid-Round Behavioral Shift Detected

Breathing rhythm: slowing despite accumulated exchanges.

Adrenal response: increasing without corresponding physical deterioration.

Eye focus: sharpening.

Visual tracking latency: reduced.

Peripheral reaction sensitivity: increasing.

Defensive anticipation patterns beginning to deviate from standard prediction models.

Counter timing becoming increasingly instinctive rather than structurally prepared.

Weight distribution transitioning away from orthodox stability.

Stance discipline deteriorating intentionally.

Balance recovery, however, remains abnormally efficient.

Facial response after accepting lead hook indicates psychological stimulation rather than damage reaction.

Conclusion: Shimamura Suzuki is entering pre-Zone behavioral state.

***

Ryoma feels quietly unsettled watching how naturally Shimamura slips into the Zone now, reaching a state that remains difficult to achieve even for someone like him.

Behind the red corner, Sergei Volkov suddenly slams a clenched fist lightly against the edge of the apron.

“Don’t let him settle, Elliot!” he shouts sharply. “Keep the pressure tight and break his rhythm!”

Elliot closes the distance again without fully abandoning his pendulum rhythm, shoulders continuing to sway subtly as he advances from mid-range.

But this time, he begins by suddenly dipping low before firing a stabbing jab toward Shimamura’s midsection.

Shimamura avoids it in an almost careless manner, simply pulling his stomach backward with an awkward lean like he has no real interest in exchanging at all.

The glove barely brushes against the surface of his skin.

Tp.

Elliot immediately hops forward again. His angle shifts slightly right as he plants spring into his rear foot before launching a heavy hook. His swaying momentum instantly transfers toward the opposite side before a diagonal left hook shoots upward from a low angle.

But Shimamura’s reactions have already become strange now. For the first hook, he merely tilts his torso enough to let the glove scrape awkwardly across his upper arm.

And then, he takes one half-sloppy step backward before leaning his torso loosely away like a man nearly losing balance. And the hook only grazes lightly across the skin of his chest.

“And now the defense starts getting weird!” the commentator shouts.

The crowd begins reacting louder now as Elliot surges forward again. This time he fully chains the sway rhythm together into a tight mid-range sequence.

Cross, short left hook, another cross, left straight, and lead hook.

Five punches explode out consecutively from different angles while Elliot keeps the distance compressed tightly enough to prevent comfortable escape.

But somehow…

Fsh!

Zrrf!

Tchk!

…none of them land properly.

The gloves only scrape lightly across Shimamura’s skin at terrible angles as his body continues tilting and swaying away at the very last fraction of each impact.

He’s not fully evading, not even blocking at all. But he keeps barely shifting enough to ruin the collision every single time.

The lead commentator’s voice suddenly rises over the roaring crowd as Elliot surges forward with another tight combination from mid-range.

“Two compact hooks from both sides!”

Dug! Dugh!

“Shimamura catches them on the shoulder and guard!”

Elliot immediately plants his lead foot again while rotating his hips sharply forward.

“And now a heavy cross…!”

Shimamura tilts loosely to the right, and the punch tears past the left side of his neck, the glove barely brushing the bottom edge of his ear above the shoulder.

From that awkward angle…

DHUACK!

A short right uppercut snaps upward into Elliot’s chin.

The crowd erupts instantly as Elliot’s head jerks back hard enough to visibly stun him for a split second.

Shimamura immediately slides away out of range again with that loose drunken rhythm.

“OOOH! That counter came out of absolutely nowhere!”

“And Graves walked right into it! Shimamura’s timing is starting to become a serious problem now!”

The bell finally rings…

DING!

…ending the first round.

Elliot steadies himself near center ring while staring at Shimamura with a noticeably sharper expression than before.

Meanwhile, Shimamura simply drifts back toward the blue corner with that same lazy posture, his arms hanging low while the crowd continues roaring around him.

“The rhythm is starting to appear now,” the lead commentator says as the crowd noise keeps swelling through the arena. “The Drunken Master from the East is in the house, baby!”