VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

In truth, Ryoma is not even expecting to find some perfect elite accountant capable of rivaling executives from major international corporations.

Ronin Fight Management is still far too small for that. They are barely a few days into operating as a formal company, and the salary they can offer is nowhere near enough to attract top-tier talent from established firms.

At this point, what Ryoma actually wants is much simpler. Someone dependable enough to reduce the burden currently carried by the team, while at the very least not becoming another problem they need to clean up later.

But unfortunately, after hours of interviews, applicant after applicant continues passing through the office without leaving Ryoma any closer to a real decision.

Some are too inexperienced. Some feel emotionally unstable. Others immediately trigger endless suspicion inside his Vision Grid until Ryoma cannot even look at them normally anymore.

“That’s it… should have just let Kurogane handle this.”

He pushes his chair back slightly, intending to leave. But then the office door suddenly opens again.

“Ryoma-kun, wait.”

Toyama steps inside a little hurriedly, almost as if trying to stop him from leaving first.

Ryoma exhales tiredly. “What now?”

Toyama raises another file in his hand. “Can we still do one more interview?”

Ryoma frowns. “You said the last one earlier was the final applicant.”

“There’s one more,” Toyama replies. “She just arrived. A middle-aged woman.”

Ryoma glances toward the wall clock instinctively. It is already approaching eleven in the morning, far beyond the interview schedule they prepared earlier.

“She arrives this late… why didn’t you just reject her?” Ryoma asks.

“At least look at the résumé first,” Toyama says while handing over the file.

Ryoma does not bother hiding the exhaustion on his face anymore. Still, he takes the document and opens it anyway.

“…Forty-seven years old?” he mutters. “That’s older than both Kurogane and Sera.”

At first, his reaction carries simple surprise more than anything else. But only a few seconds later, his expression gradually shifts, and Toyama notices it almost immediately.

The fatigue in Ryoma’s eyes starts fading little by little, replaced by visible concentration as he continues reading deeper into the résumé.

A small smile forms on Toyama’s face. “This is why I hesitated to reject her. Honestly, I almost underestimated her at first glance. But after reading that résumé…”

“…Yeah, but…” Ryoma murmurs quietly while turning another page. “Why would someone like this even apply to a tiny company like ours?”

Toyama shrugs lightly. “Maybe she’s desperate.”

And then Ryoma notices something else in the résumé. The final listed career entry ends in 2003. That was fifteen years ago, an absurdly long gap. But the position itself immediately catches his attention.

Senior Accounting Manager, MICE Division, H.E.S Travel International, the largest travel agency in Japan.

Ryoma’s eyes narrow, and almost immediately, the practical implications begin connecting themselves inside his head.

Large-scale boxing operations are not only about fights. The logistics alone are a nightmare; training camps, international travel, hotel coordination, athlete accommodations, transportation for entire teams during major events.

A person with experience managing large MICE operations inside an international travel corporation would understand exactly the kind of organizational chaos boxing events constantly create behind the scenes.

More importantly, someone like this almost certainly possesses long-standing hotel, airline, and international travel connections that could become extremely valuable for a growing promotional company trying to expand beyond Japan eventually.

“Okay, bring her in,” Ryoma says at last.

Toyama nods immediately before leaving the office again, unable to fully hide the small enthusiasm at the possibility of someone genuinely valuable might finally be entering this tiny, still-humble company.

A few moments later, the door opens once more.

“This way, please,” Toyama says politely.

The woman entering the office looks nothing like the kind of applicant Ryoma has spent the entire morning interviewing.

There is no polished corporate appearance, no carefully constructed professional image, no expensive accessories meant to signal competence or status.

If anything, she simply looks like an ordinary middle-aged housewife who has spent too many years away from professional life.

Her clothes are modest and practical, slightly old-fashioned even. The cardigan she wears has visible signs of long use, and her hairstyle feels more functional than styled.

There is also a faint tiredness around her eyes and posture, the kind carried by someone who has already been moving around since early morning.

For a brief moment, she almost resembles someone returning home from grocery shopping rather than attending a corporate interview.

The woman bows deeply. “I’m very sorry for arriving so late. My son happened to leave for America today. But I still wanted to come and hoped I might still be given a chance.”

“It’s fine,” Ryoma replies calmly. “Please, have a seat, Nobusawa-san.”

Ryoma opens the résumé once more after she sits down, his eyes moving carefully across the pages now that the actual person is finally in front of him.

“I’ll be honest, Nobusawa-san,” he says calmly. “Your résumé is… far beyond what I expected to see applying here.”

The woman gives a small awkward smile, almost embarrassed by the compliment rather than proud of it.

“But there’s one thing I don’t fully understand yet,” Ryoma continues. “This gap in your career history is extremely long.”

Her gaze lowers briefly toward her hands resting neatly on her lap. “Yes, I chose to step away from my career for my son. I wanted to focus on raising him properly while he was growing up.”

“Then why return now?” Ryoma asks. “Is it because your son no longer lives with you?”

“That’s part of it,” she says with a faint smile. “But I still need to support his education expenses in America. He was accepted there recently. While… my late husband had left us two years ago.”

A brief silence settles over the room after that. Ryoma lowers his eyes back toward the résumé afterward, partly to continue the conversation, partly to ease the heaviness that suddenly lingers in the air.

“Two years ago…” he repeats calmly. “Then have you been working during these past two years?”

Nobusawa shakes her head lightly. “Not permanent work. Fortunately, my late husband left enough savings for us to manage for a while.”

She pauses politely before continuing. “Although occasionally, I still accepted a few accounting-related requests here and there. Mostly independent work… things closer to consulting, I suppose.”

“Oh,” Ryoma says quietly. “So you never completely disconnected from finance itself.”

He lowers his eyes back toward the résumé, occasionally glancing at Nobusawa-san again simply to allow Vision Grid to continue its analysis naturally in the background.

But strangely, for the first time since the interviews begin this morning, that insidious voice inside his head does not immediately start whispering ugly possibilities and hidden motives into his thoughts.

It becomes unusually quiet. And somehow, that silence itself starts making Ryoma feel slightly unsettled instead.

“I can already tell there are probably many areas where you could help us significantly,” Ryoma says after a moment, “But… do you actually understand how this business works? The boxing side of it, I mean.”

“Not deeply,” Nobusawa admits honestly. “I only started studying it after seeing your recruitment posting.”

Unlike the earlier applicants, she does not try to pretend familiarity she clearly does not possess.

“But organizationally,” she continues calmly, “combat sports events actually resemble large-scale travel and convention management more than people realize.”

Ryoma’s attention sharpens slightly as Nobusawa folds her hands neatly together, explaining everything with calm practicality and effortless clarity.

“Training camps alone already involve substantial financial vulnerability if the internal structure is weak. If oversight becomes unclear, small inefficiencies accumulate very quickly.”

Her tone remains practical, almost matter-of-fact. “And once foreign fighters or international staff become involved, the complexity increases further. Currency fluctuation, overseas taxation, transfer timing, payment reporting, visa-related accommodations… even a simple delay in financial coordination can unexpectedly increase operational costs.”

Slowly, Ryoma feels a faint awkwardness the longer she speaks. Just moments ago she casually claims she does not understand boxing promotion that deeply. Yet her explanation already sounds far more structurally detailed than anything Ryoma himself has seriously considered before.

“Large group logistics are also more delicate than they appear,” she continues. “Especially when events require moving athletes, trainers, medical staff, sponsors, and media personnel simultaneously. If the accounting structure and scheduling coordination are not centralized properly, money leakage becomes surprisingly common.”

She says it so naturally that Ryoma suddenly realizes something uncomfortable. Until now, despite already hosting a few large boxing events themselves, he has never truly thought about these details in depth.

Most of those operational responsibilities were simply outsourced to third parties, while Nakahara Gym only reviewed final financial reports afterward.

At the time, that arrangement simply felt efficient. But now, hearing Nobusawa explain things this way, another thought slowly surfaces inside Ryoma’s mind.

If those reports had ever been manipulated even slightly, then there could already have been enormous amounts of money disappearing over the years without anyone inside the gym ever fully realizing it.