VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The office door closes behind Liam. Ramirez then casually removes his coat, draping it over the chair before finally settling himself down like someone entirely comfortable taking space inside another man’s office.

Doyle remains standing near the desk while Cross leans quietly against the filing cabinet, both waiting for Ramirez to explain what exactly he came here for.

“So,” Ramirez begins says, “what kind of offer are you planning to give Takeda’s camp?”

Doyle exchanges a brief glance with Cross before answering. “We were thinking of starting simple first. Vegas main event, decent purse split, travel accommodations, full training facilities before the fight.”

“And hosting rights,” Cross adds. “That’s still the priority.”

Ramirez nods slowly, listening without interrupting.

“We’ll probably emphasize the business potential too,” Doyle continues. “American exposure. International broadcast. Bigger stage than Tokyo.”

Ramirez remains silent for another moment before finally shaking his head faintly.

“That won’t be enough.”

The room grows noticeably quieter as Doyle glances toward Cross again.

“You can open with it,” Ramirez continues calmly. “But you need to prepare for the possibility that Takeda’s camp rejects your first proposal immediately. And once that happens, you’ll need stronger incentives ready for negotiation.”

Cross folds his arms. “Like what?”

“The first thing they’ll question is obvious,” Ramirez says. “Why Vegas?”

His eyes move between both men. “And that’s where you start selling the scale of Vegas. Tell them the event becomes bigger internationally here. Bigger gate. More attention. Here, you can offer them ticket profits, like fifty percent of the live gate revenue.”

Even Cross looks mildly surprised by the number. Ramirez notices it immediately and gives a small shrug. “You’re trying to secure hosting rights. Of course it’ll cost money.”

Then his expression sharpens slightly. “And if they still refuse, you raise the offer again.”

“How far?” Doyle asks.

“One hundred percent of Japanese broadcasting revenue,” Ramirez says casually. “I heard Takeda accepted a similar arrangement for the Manila event before this. For a gym their size, that kind of offer sounds enormous.”

Doyle slowly folds his arms now, clearly thinking through the numbers already.

“And the purse?” Ramirez adds. “That is where you’ll need to make sacrifices. But… if you don’t want to sacrifice too much overall revenue, then your fighter becomes the sacrifice instead.”

Doyle’s gaze sharpens. “What exactly are you implying?”

Ramirez remains completely relaxed under the stare directed at him. “Think about the situation objectively. Liam already lost to my Cabello. Meanwhile Takeda’s momentum keeps growing after the Villanueva fight.”

He gestures lightly with one hand. “The fans are more interested in Takeda right now. Even the WBO mandate exists largely because the organization sees value in pushing him toward title contention. In comparison, Liam is barely considered essential to the event.”

Cross glances sideways briefly while Doyle’s jaw tightens visibly.

“So honestly,” Ramirez continues, “your fighter’s already fortunate he’s receiving this opportunity at all. So you can reduce Liam’s purse. Three hundred thousand will suffice.”

Doyle immediately shakes his head once. “That’ll look insulting.”

Ramirez shrugs without concern. “Then make it five. But don’t go beyond that. Your priority isn’t protecting Liam’s pride. Your priority is making sure Ryoma Takeda accepts the deal. You’ll need to give him more. One million. “Possibly one and a half.”

The truth is, neither Doyle nor Cross is unfamiliar with promoting fights. But most of the time, they simply allow bigger camps to take hosting rights instead. It keeps the risks lower, and guarantees stable profit without gambling too much capital upfront.

Even when they occasionally hosts events themselves, they usually stay pragmatic about it, choosing smaller venues and safer financial structures. But a Vegas event is never a pragmatic investment.

And now Ramirez is talking about giving away percentages of ticket revenue, Japanese broadcasting profits, and million-dollar purses on top of that just to secure Ryoma Takeda’s camp.

The office falls into a heavier silence afterward as Doyle and Cross unconsciously glance toward each other again, both already calculating the scale of money Ramirez is talking about.

Meanwhile, Ramirez quietly studies both men across the desk, already recognizing the hesitation slowly settling over the room.

Then he pushes further. “I’m afraid you’re looking at the spending. Not the return.”

He leans forward, slightly knocking the table with the tip of his index finger. “Look, Ryoma Takeda has never failed to make an event successful. The kid generates attention everywhere he fights.”

He leans slightly back into the chair again. “And if you secure hosting rights in Vegas, you two become the promoters attached to that success.”

Cross exhales quietly through his nose before finally speaking. “I’m afraid we don’t have enough capital to throw around deals like that.”

Ramirez answers almost immediately. “That won’t be an issue. I’ll lend you the money necessary to make it happen. With a very small interest rate, of course.”

Cross’s expression tightens faintly now while Doyle remains silent, still studying him carefully.

Ramirez notices the caution, but only smiles faintly. “Believe me, once the event succeeds and Liam earns the right to challenge my Cabello afterward, both of you will make far more money than you’re risking now.”

Then his eyes narrow slightly. “Even after paying your debt back to me.”

***

Meanwhile, another taxi cuts through the cold Toronto streets toward North Forge Boxing Gym while faint frost still lingers along the edges of the windows. Inside the vehicle, warm air fills the cramped space as passing streetlights slide repeatedly across the glass and heavy winter coats.

Kurogane sits slightly leaned back against the seat, one hand resting near his chin as though still thinking about last night’s events.

“You think Hugo Ramirez is really going to involve himself in your next fight?” he asks eventually. “I mean, the guy was literally sitting there watching Mercer against Roy last night.”

Ryoma exhales lightly behind the thick scarf covering the lower half of his face. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we actually run into him at Liam’s camp.”

“Hahaa… honestly, neither would I,” Kurogane replies with a chuckle.

But the amusement barely finishes leaving his mouth before the taxi slowly pulls over near the curb outside North Forge Boxing Gym.

And immediately, both of them spot Hugo Ramirez stepping out through the front entrance of the building. A large man built like a bodyguard follows closely behind him as they walk toward a black car already waiting directly in front of the taxi.

Both Ryoma and Kurogane slowly raise their brows at nearly the same time.

“…Ah,” Ryoma mutters quietly. “Just like I said.”

Kurogane stares through the windshield for another second before letting out a disbelieving laugh.

“Well, I’m more surprised by how accurate your prediction was than by seeing him here.”

Outside, Ramirez briefly glances toward their taxi as he approaches his own vehicle. But his eyes pass over them without recognition.

Not because Ryoma and Kurogane are intentionally hiding themselves. They simply still are not used to Canada’s cold.

Both of them remain bundled heavily beneath thick winter coats, wool scarves wrapped high around their necks and lower faces, dark masks, and thick beanies pulled low enough that almost nothing recognizable remains visible from outside the taxi window.

Ryoma even steps out of the taxi as if intending to confront the man directly.

“Hey, wait…” Kurogane calls after him in a restrained voice.

But Ryoma is already outside, standing beside the taxi while facing Ramirez near the black car ahead.

For a brief moment, their eyes meet across the pavement. Ramirez slows slightly, one eyebrow lifting with faint curiosity beneath the winter lights, clearly noticing the young man staring at him.

But the look lasts only a second. Then Ramirez simply opens the car door and gets inside with complete indifference.

A moment later, the black car pulls away from the curb. Only after it leaves does Kurogane finish paying the taxi driver before stepping outside himself, carrying a small suitcase in one hand.

He walks over beside Ryoma, both of them quietly watching the black car grow smaller farther down the street.

“So…” Kurogane says eventually. “He actually got here before us.”

Ryoma exhales tiredly through the cold air. “Then we should treat this negotiation like Hugo Ramirez is still sitting in the room with them.”