VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Cold wind drifts through the streets outside Scotiabank Arena after the storm of the unification finally settles.

The crowd pours into the Toronto night in loud restless waves, conversations overlapping endlessly about Jean-Pascal Roy throwing away the WBC belt moments after winning it.

Among the thousands leaving the arena, Liam O’Connel walks quietly with both hands inside his jacket pockets while the people around him remain far more absorbed in talking about Jean-Pascal Roy.

Everywhere around him, conversations keep replaying the same unbelievable moment; the victory, the belt relinquishment, the speech. Hardly anyone is paying attention to anything else tonight.

Then finally, a few people farther back recognize Liam O’Connel only after staring twice.

“Wait… isn’t that Liam O’Connel?”

“The guy who beat Roy years ago?”

“What? That’s the guy who handed Roy one of the only two losses on his record?”

“Yeah. Back when Roy was still just a rookie.”

“…Crazy how different things turned out.”

Soon, another group farther down the sidewalk begins glancing repeatedly in Liam’s direction before finally approaching him carefully.

“Excuse me… you’re Liam O’Connel, right?”

Liam slows his steps slightly. “Yeah.”

One of them quickly pulls out a marker and a folded event poster.

“Could we get an autograph?”

“Sure.”

Liam accepts the marker politely, along with an event poster from Roy’s title fight still carrying Roy’s image across the front. Even so, he simply lowers his gaze and signs it without complaint while the conversation continues around him.

“It’s honestly a shame about your title fight the other month. You were this close.”

“You’re seriously strong, man. But Cabello…”

Another immediately shakes his head. “Yeah, he was basically like Mercer tonight. Too good at running and surviving.”

A slightly awkward silence follows afterward.

“Ah… sorry,” one of them says quickly. “Hope that doesn’t offend you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Liam replies calmly while handing back one autograph before signing another. “That wasn’t even my first loss anyway.” A faint smile appears briefly. “Besides, I’m preparing for the rematch after I beat Ryoma Takeda first.”

“Oh, right… your next fight’s supposed to be Ryoma Takeda.”

“So it’s official already?” another asks. “When’s the fight? Here too?”

“Nothing’s finalized yet,” Liam answers. “There haven’t been direct talks between us, but the WBO already issued the mandate. So it’s not really a fight I can avoid.”

“We’ll be rooting for you, Liam.”

“I know Ryoma Takeda’s a great boxer,” one of them says. “At least he’s not the type who spends the whole fight running.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely gonna be a good one. Hopefully they hold it here. I’d pay to watch that live.”

Liam finishes the last autograph, giving them a polite nod and faint smile. But as more people farther back begin noticing him and slowly drift closer, he excuses himself before the small crowd can grow larger.

He walks away at a quicker pace this time, until he spots a taxi driver farther down the street raises a hand toward him.

Liam immediately heads over and climbs inside.

“Harbourfront,” he says quietly.

As the taxi pulls away from the arena district, Liam O’Connel leans back quietly against the seat while the city lights slide across the windows beside him.

His mind drifts back toward the earlier conversation outside; Cabello running, surviving, escaping exchanges.

The comparison to Mercer lingers unpleasantly in his head now. The more he thinks about it, the more similarities he sees between Mercer and Miguel Cabello. And in some ways, the similarities between himself and Roy are there too.

But tonight Roy dismantled Mercer, Meanwhile, Liam himself lost to Cabello by decision. He could make excuses if he wanted to. But excuses would never bring the belt home.

“Big fight tonight?” the taxi driver suddenly asks casually, eyes staying on the road.

The voice pulls Liam out of his thoughts.

“…Yeah,” he answers. “It was great. Roy knocked Mercer out in the sixth.”

“Oh, seriously?” The driver lets out a surprised laugh. “So somebody finally beat that runner, huh?”

He shakes his head lightly while steering through the traffic. “I honestly thought it’d just end with another judges’ decision after twelve rounds of running around.”

Liam only gives a small nod and faint smile in response. The driver keeps talking casually afterward, never once recognizing who is sitting quietly in the back seat behind him.

When the driver finally falls silent and only the low hum of the taxi remains, Liam O’Connel exhales slowly before pulling out his phone.

A few moments later, footage of Ryoma Takeda’s latest fight against Dante Villanueva in the OPBF and WBO Asia-Pacific unification bout begins playing across the screen.

“Wait a second… Takeda’s actually inviting Villanueva forward here!” one commentator shouts from the phone speaker.

“And he’s doing it while standing inside the corner!” the second commentator adds immediately. “Most fighters would circle out after a knockdown, but Takeda’s deliberately holding his ground there instead!”

Silent now, Liam watches the footage carefully while the earlier comments outside the arena drift back into his mind.

Clearly, Ryoma is not the type of fighter who survives by running. That much Liam can already tell. But Ryoma is not a pure pressure fighter either. He looks more like a complete fighter capable of adapting into almost anything, blending old Soviet fundamentals with the fluidity and improvisation of modern American boxing.

Even so, Liam can still feel the difference in mentality. Ryoma’s movements never carry the feeling of someone merely trying to preserve scoring advantages. Everything he does seems connected toward breaking the opponent down eventually. Even the smaller setup punches feel like pieces of something larger being built in advance.

But that realization also creates another problem in Liam’s mind. Ryoma is clearly comfortable using the Philly Shell too, comfortable controlling distance, fighting off angles before disengaging again.

And what if the fight starts turning against him…?

No… Someone that complete would probably just reset the distance, slip back outside, and fight cautiously instead if that became the smarter option.

At that point, Mercer suddenly resurfaces in Liam’s thoughts again, and how Roy dismantling the Philly Shell, breaking through it, forcing the fight into something Mercer could no longer escape from.

And slowly, one particular image settles deeper into Liam’s mind.

“The Dempsey Roll… huh?”

***

The next morning, cold pale light filters through the front windows of North Forge Boxing Gym while the muffled sounds of gloves hitting heavy bags echo from deeper inside the building.

Liam O’Connel walks straight past the training area without stopping, still wearing yesterday’s dark coat before pushing open the manager’s office door. Inside, Doyle and Cross are already there discussing something over paperwork.

“Doyle,” Liam says immediately. “Can you teach me the Dempsey Roll?”

Both men immediately look up toward Liam, their expressions shifting from confusion to sharp curiosity at the sudden unexpected request.

“…The Dempsey Roll?” Doyle repeats slowly, eyes narrowing as he studies Liam’s expression more carefully. Then realization gradually settles into his face. “So you watched that fight last night, huh?”

He leans back slightly in his chair. “And now you think the same Dempsey Roll’s gonna work against Ryoma Takeda too?”

Liam doesn’t answer right away, but his expression never changes either.

Doyle exhales through his nose before standing up from his chair and approaching him, unconvinced already.

“You do realize Ryoma Takeda’s a counter puncher too, right?” Doyle says. “One of the best at it. And his counters aren’t like Mercer’s or Cabello’s. That kid throws counters with the intention of ending fights.”

He folds his arms. “And the Dempsey Roll? That’s probably one of the worst things you could use against someone like that.”

“I know the risk,” Liam replies calmly. “And I’m not planning to rely on that move alone. I trust my own ability to beat him if he stands his ground and fights me head-on.”

Then his gaze sharpens again. “But what if he loses ground and starts running instead? By then, the only way to stop him is by trapping him against the ropes or forcing him into the corner. And once that happens, he’ll probably shift into the Philly Shell.”

Liam’s jaw tightens faintly. “I’ll need something capable of breaking that shell.”

Doyle says nothing for several seconds, only staring at Liam while weighing the determination behind the idea.

He still clearly dislikes it. But before he can argue further, movement suddenly appears near the office doorway.

The moment the figure steps into view, the atmosphere changes instantly. Because standing there is Hugo Ramirez.

Boyle’s brows tighten slightly. “You… What are you doing here?”

“To see you, of course,” Ramirez answers casually while rubbing both palms together against the cold outside air still clinging to his coat. “Well, originally I came here to watch Mercer against Jean-Pascal Roy.”

He clicks his tongue once. “Not exactly the kind of fight I expected to see either, considering I was rooting for Mercer.”

Then he shrugs lightly. “But while I’m already here in Toronto, I figured I might as well visit.”

Liam steps aside slightly from the doorway while Doyle gestures toward the room.

“Come in.”

Ramirez walks inside with the heavy presence of someone used to entering rooms like he owns them, his eyes briefly scanning across the office with mild disinterest before stopping on Liam for a short moment.

Then he turns toward Doyle instead. “Honestly, I also wanted to discuss this guy’s next fight. But it’ll probably go smoother if he’s not involved in the conversation.”

A faint smirk pulls at one side of his mouth. “You know how these things work. Negotiations are easier when the fighter simply trusts management instead of trying to involve himself too much.”

Liam’s brows twitch immediately at that. Doyle notices the irritation clearly, but still nods toward him, gesturing him to leave.

“We’ll talk later,” he says quietly.

Liam exhales hard through his nose, disappointment and contempt mixing visibly across his face at the way Ramirez speaks about him like an asset sitting in the same room.

But eventually, he turns and leaves the office anyway.