VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Shortly after Ryoma and Kurogane return to Tokyo, Ronin Fight Management immediately begins moving behind the scenes.

Formal notification letters are sent toward the WBO commission. At nearly the same time, negotiations for Kenta’s rematch against Della Cruz also begin accelerating quietly in parallel.

Inside the office, several staff members move between desks carrying documents and laptops while Kurogane remains on the phone behind a smaller desk positioned near the corner of the room, slightly separated from the main meeting area.

Then eventually, he lowers the receiver of the office desk phone back into place before turning his chair toward the rest of the management team.

“They accepted,” he says.

Several heads immediately turn toward him.

“The Della Cruz camp says they’re still willing to take the same purse arrangement as Manila.”

Nakahara nods once. “Good. Then prepare the official contract draft immediately and send it over before they reconsider.”

One of the younger staff members quickly pulls his laptop closer before beginning to type. The sound of rapid keyboard clicks soon fills part of the office.

Kurogane walks over afterward before lowering himself into the seat beside him, the lingering fatigue from the long flight back from Toronto still faintly visible across his face as he quietly thinks about the larger structure of the event.

“Now we need to seriously consider the fight schedule itself,” he says.

Nakahara looks up from the documents in his hand. “Didn’t we already inform the WBO about April 15th?”

“It’s not about the date,” Kurogane replies. “It’s about finding the best broadcast timing if we want to target both the American and European markets simultaneously.”

Sera cuts in from farther across the room. “That’s practically impossible unless you hold the event in the morning here. Around 7 AM.”

Nakahara’s brows immediately rise. “Seven in the morning? We’d lose local attendance badly with a schedule like that.”

“It’s not only about local attendance,” Sera says. “It also affects the fighters physically. That’s not a normal fighting hour. Honestly, even from our side, we’ve never attempted something like that before. The body preparation alone would require special adjustments.”

Kurogane leans slightly back into his chair. “Then what about late afternoon? Somewhere around four to seven PM?”

Sera shakes his head slowly. “That becomes too late for America. Depending on the region, it could fall into early morning hours over there. In London, though, it would land closer to morning. Not exactly prime time either, but sports culture there is different. They’re more accustomed to watching live events during breakfast hours.”

Nobusawa slightly raises her hand. “If we go with that schedule, I’m afraid we’d sacrifice the biggest PPV market in the world entirely.”

Kurogane’s brows tighten. “So what’s the best compromise without losing both?”

“We have to sacrifice one,” Sera says, his gaze lifts toward the others around the room. “And if you ask me, we should prioritize America.”

He walks toward the whiteboard near the wall before writing several rough time calculations across it.

“We can’t realistically chase European prime time from Japan anyway. But Sunday afternoon here becomes Saturday night in America.”

“That’s sacred money-making territory for them,” Nobusawa adds.

“Right,” Sera nods as he begins writing rough event structures beneath it. “Opening card starts around noon here. Kenta’s semifinal around 1 PM. Ryoma’s main event after that.”

Then he turns back toward the room. “If the event flow stays organized properly on fight night, American audiences could start tuning in somewhere around 9 to 10 PM.”

The room gradually falls quieter afterward. Several people continue staring toward the rough schedule written across the whiteboard, still visibly dissatisfied by the idea of sacrificing the European market no matter how logical Sera’s explanation sounds financially.

“Come on, guys,” Sera says while lowering the marker onto the tray beneath the board. “Stop being greedy. You should already know this business doesn’t let you have everything at once.”

Nakahara exhales quietly before turning his attention toward Ryoma. “What do you think, kid?”

Ryoma remains slouched slightly into the seat, one elbow resting against the armrest while his eyes look half-lidded now.

The exhaustion from the long flight back from Toronto still clearly lingers over him, leaving him looking more sleepy and worn out than invested in the business discussion surrounding him.

“I’ll leave that to you guys,” he mutters tiredly. “My job is just giving them the best fight possible. Nothing less.”

Nakahara studies him briefly before asking again, “You really don’t mind fighting in early afternoon?”

Ryoma slowly shakes his head once. “I don’t mind.”

***

The following day, the WBO finally releases its official statement regarding the mandated lightweight title eliminator.

And a few hours later, Ronin Fight Management follows with its own official announcement through the company website and social media channels.

And not long afterward, Nakahara steps out onto a temporary press conference stage set up directly in front of the Ronin Fight Management building.

Dozens of cameras immediately begin flashing the moment he appears behind the podium, and Ryoma follows a step behind him onto the stage, his expression noticeably refreshed.

Large promotional posters already stand behind them across the stage backdrop, displaying both Ryoma Takeda and Liam O’Connel facing each other beneath bold lettering announcing the WBO Lightweight Final Eliminator.

Meanwhile another promotional image beside it displays Arvin Della Cruz and Kenta Moriyama for the co-main event rematch.

Nakahara adjusts the microphone slightly before he speaks.

“Thank you for attending today.

Ronin Fight Management is proud to officially announce our upcoming boxing event scheduled for April fifteenth, 2018, at Yoyogi National Stadium in Tokyo, Japan.”

“The undercard will begin at 11 AM local time. The semifinal event will feature the rematch between Arvin Della Cruz and Kenta Moriyama for the WBO Asia-Pacific Welterweight Championship.”

Several reporters immediately begin writing notes more aggressively at the mention of the Manila rematch.

“And the main event…” Nakahara continues, “will feature Ryoma Takeda of Japan against Liam O’Connel of Canada in a WBO Lightweight Final Eliminator bout. The winner will receive the legitimate right to challenge for the WBO Lightweight World Championship.”

Then he closes the note, “That’s it for today.”

The room immediately erupts into overlapping questions before Nakahara even finishes fully stepping away from the microphone.

“Nakahara-san, why hold the event so early in the day?”

“Will Miguel Cabello attend the event personally?”

Nakahara allows the noise to settle before raising one hand toward the microphones.

“The event is officially confirmed. We look forward to delivering a strong fight card for everyone attending.”

Another reporter pushes forward through the noise. “Nakahara-san! How did you manage to secure hosting rights in Japan after initial rumors about Las Vegas? What exactly changed in the negotiation process?”

Nakahara dodges the question politely. “I wasn’t directly involved in that part of the discussion. My focus has been on preparing the rest of the event schedule and the upcoming card at Ota Gym.”

The atmosphere shifts. If Nakahara wasn’t part of the negotiation, then the conclusion becomes obvious to everyone standing there.

“Takeda-san! Did you personally negotiate the deal with Liam O’Connel’s camp?”

“Did you travel to Canada yourself?”

Ryoma steps forward naturally, his expression remains calm. This level of scrutiny is something he has long been used to.

“Yes,” he says simply. “I went to Canada myself. To speak directly with Liam O’Connel’s management.”

The crowd reacts immediately, pens moving faster before another reporter pushes in.

“So you were the one who negotiated the hosting rights?”

Ryoma smiles lightly before answering. “It’s more accurate to say both sides reached an agreement together, and found something acceptable for both camps.”

“Was Las Vegas completely off the table?” another voice calls out.

“There were multiple options,” Ryoma says. “But in the end, we chose the one that made the most sense for both fighters.”

A reporter leans in again. “Did you personally lead the negotiation process?”

“I represented my side, yes,” Ryoma says with the same tone. “I don’t think of it as one person ‘winning’ a negotiation. It was more about understanding what both camps were willing to accept.”

That line causes a faint ripple through the press group, because it reframes the entire deal away from dominance, and into cooperation.

Another question follows immediately. “Can you clarify the structure of the agreement?”

For the first time, Ryoma’s answer becomes slightly more closed. “Sorry… we are here to promote the fight, not negotiate it again in front of cameras.”

That sentence lands cleanly. And yet, in the silence that follows, what remains unspoken is even louder than what was said.

Before long, the footage from the press conference begins circulating through international sports media channels, clipped, reposted, and replayed across boxing networks without delay.

And of course, it eventually reaches Hugo Ramirez.

He doesn’t react at first, only reading the news on his computer screen in silence. His cursor drags back, rewinding Ryoma’s answers again and again.

Then his expression slowly tightens. The more he reads, the more his anger builds quietly inside his chest.

“…What the hell are you doing, Boyle?” he mutters coldly. “You think you can oppose me like this?”

A moment later, he reaches for his phone and dials without hesitation.

[Boyle speaking.]

“Tell me something, Boyle. What kind of deal did you make with that brat?”

There is a brief pause on the other end before Boyle responds flatly.

[That kind of matter isn’t something I can discuss with other parties. You’re a promoter yourself. I assume you understand.]

“If he didn’t accept my terms, why didn’t you push it to purse bid?”

The line falls silent for a second before ending abruptly. Ramirez’s expression darkens as he lowers the phone, his attention slowly drifting back to the screen, where Ryoma’s image remains frozen on the article.

“Damn brat… I should’ve put an end to your career much earlier.”