VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

By the final minute of the round, Okabe no longer lets the jab touch him cleanly at all. His guard remains disciplined and tight, but now his reactions start carrying confidence behind them.

Swssh!

Then another pair of jabs shoots toward him.

Okabe shifts his head while dipping slightly through the knees…

Swssh! Swssh!

…and both punches cut through empty air.

Higuchi’s expression tightens faintly. Irritated, he immediately snaps out a sharper one-two.

Okabe blocks the jab…

Dug!

…then instantly ducks and slips underneath the cross.

The movement comes so smoothly that by the time Higuchi tries pulling the right hand back, Okabe is already stepping inside his range.

Okabe drives a compact lead hook into the body while his right glove is already rotating upward for an overhead punch.

Higuchi cannot defend both properly. Instinctively, he prioritizes protecting the head, and so…

THUD! DUGH!

The hook buries itself into his ribs, and the overhead crashes heavily into his guard a split second later.

Pain immediately flashes across Higuchi’s face as he stumbles half a step back before snapping out a sharp jab-hook combination in retaliation, but…

Swsh! Zrssh!

…both punches only slice through empty air as Okabe slips underneath and steps right back inside.

Another hook-overhead combination comes immediately after.

Again, Higuchi protects high.

THUD! Dugh!

“Another body shot gets through!”

“Okabe’s pressure suddenly changed the entire flow of this round!”

The body gets hit clean for the second time. And this time, Higuchi cannot ignore how heavy those compact punches feel.

There is barely any wasted motion behind them, yet each impact carries enough weight to disturb his balance and interrupt the rhythm in his legs.

Before he can properly reset his footing, Okabe is already continuing with tight hook-uppercut combinations at close range.

Dugh. Dugh. Thud! Dug. Bugh! Dug.

“Higuchi was dominating from range earlier, but now he’s getting trapped in these close exchanges!”

The punches keep crashing against arms, elbows, guard, with a pair of body shots still slipping through the gaps.

Higuchi’s breathing tightens. For the first time in the fight, panic flickers briefly inside him.

He immediately reaches forward to clinch, snaking his left arm around Okabe’s right side to slow the pressure down.

“Higuchi’s trying to tie him up here!”

But before he can fully tie Okabe up, Okabe dips slightly through the left knee and rips another compact left hook into the body…

BUGH!

…the spring from his legs and twist of his hips generating brutal force despite the short distance.

Higuchi’s entire body jerks upward from the impact.

“OH, what body shot!”

“How did he generate that much power from that distance?!”

Finally, Higuchi manages to wrap both arms around him. The referee quickly steps forward to separate them, but the bell rings first.

Ding!

“And there’s the bell!”

“What a turnaround from Okabe in the final minute of that round!”

“Higuchi looked completely in control early, but once Okabe got inside, the entire fight changed!”

Okabe’s supporters roar even louder in excitement, slamming their fists against the barricades while shouting toward the ring with rough enthusiasm.

“THAT’S MORE LIKE IT, OKABE!”

“KEEP WALKING HIM DOWN!”

“YEAH! BREAK HIS BODY!”

“DON’T LET THAT PRETTY-BOY RUN!”

Meanwhile, the atmosphere around Higuchi’s side feels noticeably different. Several of his female supporters no longer scream hysterically like before.

Their expressions tighten with visible concern after watching him get trapped and hammered to the body during the closing exchanges.

“Higuchi-kun…”

“Are you okay?!”

A few girls on the front row even covers her mouth anxiously while watching Higuchi return to his corner still breathing heavier than before.

The opening round ends with Okabe only truly attacking during the final minute. Yet to Higuchi, that final minute feels longer than everything that came before it.

Higuchi walks back toward his corner while glaring across the ring with growing contempt. The old Okabe who loves brawling at close range is still there.

But tonight, everything feels different. There’s no wasted movement in him anymore, no reckless swings, no emotional rushing. And somehow, that restraint makes the pressure feel even worse.

Higuchi hates how unprepared he feels for the change. For an entire round, he never once landed cleanly on Okabe’s face.

And for someone who prides himself on precision and technique, that failure scratches directly against his ego.

“Just wait,” he mutters under his breath. “I’ll smash that ugly face next round.”

His gloves tighten slightly as irritation builds stronger inside him.

***

But even in the next round, Higuchi still cannot land a truly clean punch onto Okabe’s face.

Okabe’s head keeps shifting away from the punching line at the last moment, subtle movements guided more by his legs and balance than dramatic upper-body motion.

Even when Higuchi’s left hand connects, the impact never lands flush. Sometimes it only grazes across the side of the head. Sometimes it brushes the cheek or temple. But never a clean, straight collision.

For most of the round, Higuchi still controls the fight beautifully. His footwork stays elegant and disciplined, constantly circling around the ring while dictating the distance with sharp jabs and quick pivots. Every step looks measured. Every angle feels calculated.

“Excellent ring control from Higuchi here!”

“This is the kind of technical boxing people expect from him!”

Whenever Okabe tries stepping forward too directly, Higuchi immediately redirects the position with his feet before firing another clean sequence from range.

But once again, the final minute changes the entire rhythm of the round. Okabe’s pressure returns even heavier than before.

And even when Higuchi tries to keep the distance properly, little by little, the effort itself starts wearing on him.

The circling becomes shorter. The exits become narrower. And before Higuchi fully realizes it, his back foot reaches the ropes.

“Okabe’s cutting the ring much better now!”

“Higuchi’s running out of space!”

Higuchi tries pivoting out, but Okabe steps across first and traps him near the corner.

And the arena explodes.

“OH, HERE WE GO!”

“OKABE HAS HIM CORNERED!”

Okabe immediately opens fire at close range.

DUGH! THUD! DUGH! BUGH!

“Okabe is completely taking over these inside exchanges!”

“Ahh! Another body shot!”

“Okabe’s pressure is becoming relentless!”

Again, Higuchi desperately kills the exchange by forcing a clinch. But even there, Okabe keeps working.

Short punches still sneak in whenever he manages to free one hand for even half a second. Higuchi endures it silently, refusing to react while buying time until finally…

Ding!

The bell rings through the arena.

The moment Higuchi loosens the clinch, Okabe immediately shoves him backward toward the corner pad.

“Stop fighting like a coward, kid,” Okabe scoffs. “You’re a boxer, not some movie actor. Man up.”

The crowd instantly reacts. Some laugh, while others roar louder in approval.

“This ain’t a dance show, Higuchi!”

“Quit clinging to him like a girl!”

Okabe simply turns around and walks back toward his corner with visible irritation, clearly disgusted by the repeated clinching.

Behind him, Higuchi stares at his back with growing contempt. It’s another exhausting round, another miserable final minute. And somehow, he still refuses to properly acknowledge Okabe’s ability.

“Just you wait…” he mutters quietly while returning to his stool. “I’ll crush that ugly face next round.”

***

But the next round comes, and once again, he cannot hit that ugly face cleanly. Every time he tries targeting Okabe’s face, the head keeps slipping just outside the line at the last moment.

And once the final minute arrives, the pressure starts swallowing space around him again. First the ropes. Then the corner. And then the suffocating exchanges.

Eventually, Higuchi snaps and fires back without restraint.

“OH, HERE WE GO!”

“Higuchi’s finally standing his ground!”

“They’re trading now!”

And just like that, the slugfest finally erupts, wild, violent, and ugly.

The arena instantly explodes as both fighters begin exchanging at close range without giving ground.

“This is exactly the kind of fight the crowd wanted!”

“And honestly, this might be a mistake for Higuchi!”

They begin trading inside a suffocating phone-booth distance, shoulders crashing against each other while hooks and uppercuts fly from impossible angles.

Dug! Thud! Dugh!

Dsh! Bugh! Thud! DUGH! BUGH!

Neither man is thinking much about strategy anymore. It becomes a contest of grit, a test of whose body breaks first.

“HIGUCHI’S REALLY EXCHANGING WITH HIM NOW!”

“THIS IS TURNING INTO A WAR!”

But even inside the chaos, there is still a clear difference between them. Higuchi’s punches start getting wider as the emotions take over him. Meanwhile, Okabe’s combinations remain frighteningly compact.

No matter how ugly the exchange becomes, Okabe’s shoulder rotation still stays tight and efficient, every punch traveling through the shortest possible path.

Blood and sweat begin splattering across the canvas, yet neither man stops trying to break the other.

“OOH! THIS IS GETTING DANGEROUS!”

“It’s only the third round, yet they’re fighting like this is the final ten seconds of the match!”

Then eventually, it leads to one moment where both fighters swing right hooks at the exact same time, both aiming for the head.

But Okabe’s punch, traveling at shorter route, arrives first.

DHUACK!

The compact hook snaps Higuchi’s head violently backward. And a thick spray of nasal mucus bursts out from the impact, as his own hook only slight knocks the top of Okabe’s head.

“OH!”

Before Higuchi can even recover, Okabe’s left hook crashes into the side of his face immediately after.

DSH!

Higuchi’s head whips sideways from the second impact and the viscous mucus swings across the opposite direction, splattering messily over his own right cheek and eye.

“GOOD LORD!”

“OKABE JUST BLASTED HIM WITH BOTH HOOKS!”

“And… ugh… look at that mucus flying everywhere!”

One of the commentators visibly grimaces while instinctively leaning slightly away.

“That is absolutely disgusting… but those hooks were brutal!”

Okabe stops his assault for a moment, caught off guard by the look on Higuchi’s face, feeling a bit guilty somehow.

“Ah, man… look at your face.”

Even Higuchi’s female supporters react with visible disgust. Several instinctively cover their mouths. Others wince while looking at the giant screen replay showing the mucus splattering across Higuchi’s own face.

The girls who had been screaming his name earlier now looks completely horrified instead.