VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The moment Okabe jumps down from the corner post, Hiroshi plants a hand on the back of his head and smacks him hard enough to make him stumble.

“Not bad, you idiot.”

A second slap follows from Kurogane. “Seriously, since when did you start setting traps like that?”

The rest of the corner team quickly surrounds him, offering congratulations in their own rough ways. Some pat his shoulders. Others smack the top of his head.

“For a moment there, I thought you were actually getting exhausted.”

Okabe immediately jerks his head away. “Exhausted? I could’ve fought ten rounds tonight.”

The statement earns a chorus of laughter. Still grinning, Okabe suddenly remembers a certain promise. His eyes immediately drift toward ringside.

“Ah.”

Without another word, he pushes through his own team and heads toward the side of the ring where Ryoma is sitting. Then, just like Shigenobu had done earlier, Okabe points a glove toward him.

“I did it exactly how you wanted.” A wide grin spreads across his face. “You better keep your promise, kid.”

Ryoma simply laughs while applauding from his seat. “Of course.”

The exchange only lasts a few seconds. Yet beside him, Kirizume feels that familiar discomfort returning.

Objectively speaking, Okabe is certainly talking about the knockout bonus Ryoma promised before the fight.

Yet after everything Kirizume has witnessed tonight, he catches himself wondering whether Ryoma’s influence extends further than he originally believed.

Whether the young promoter is not only orchestrating the emotions of the crowd, but somehow helping shape the strategic direction of the fights themselves.

The thought is absurd. And yet, looking at the smiling twenty-two-year-old promoter sitting beside him, Kirizume finds it strangely difficult to dismiss.

Kirizume knows Okabe’s abilities quiet well, even judging the ceiling of his potential. He knows that one fighter who lost the final of Class-A Tournament.

While the improvement since then has been obvious, he never expected a leap this large, or to be able ending the fight this clean despite the chaos.

***

And as if Okabe’s absurd development is not enough, Ryohei’s fight presents Kirizume with an entirely different surprise.

From the opening round, Ryohei takes control of the match with a style that seems to combine the elegance of a technician with the relentless pressure of a brawler.

His opponent, Uchida Nori, is widely respected for his durability and forward pressure. Many have compared his style to former Japanese champion Umemoto.

Under normal circumstances, that reputation alone should have guaranteed a difficult fight. Instead, Ryohei makes the contest look almost routine.

“I’ll be honest, this isn’t what I expected from Ryohei tonight,” a commentator says.

“Not at all,” the second adds. “He looks sharper, calmer, more aggressive, and far more complete than the fighter we saw a year ago.”

“And against someone as difficult as Uchida, that’s a frightening thing to see.”

“Uchida’s doing what he always does… walking forward, applying pressure, forcing exchanges… but somehow Ryohei has an answer for everything!”

For over a year, people dismissed Ryohei’s Class-A Tournament victory over Uchida as a fortunate outcome decided by a single lucky punch. Tonight, he systematically destroys that narrative.

He controls the pace with superior footwork and cleaner technique. Whenever Uchida manages to close the distance, Ryohei remains composed. Even when trapped against the ropes, he calmly blocks the incoming hooks and uppercuts before slipping compact counters through the middle.

“Look at that composure!”

“Most fighters panic once Uchida gets them on the ropes, but Ryohei’s standing his ground and fighting right through it!”

More impressively, he never seems interested in escaping those situations. After creating a small amount of space, he simply chooses to continue fighting there.

The fight remains intense from start to finish, but at no point does Ryohei appear overwhelmed. He anchors himself behind a crouched stance, uses pendulum steps to manipulate angles, and repeatedly finds cleaner targets than his opponent.

The difference becomes undeniable near the end of the second round when he scores a knockdown with only seconds remaining.

Then, midway through the third round, he drops Uchida twice more. By that point, the outcome is no longer in doubt.

The referee eventually steps in to spare Uchida any further punishment, awarding Ryohei a decisive TKO victory.

For most spectators, it is simply an impressive performance. For Kirizume, however, it becomes another uncomfortable piece of the same puzzle.

Okabe looks dramatically better than expected. Ryohei, meanwhile, fights as if the Japanese level has already become too small for him. And both improvements appear far too significant to dismiss as coincidence.

***

Unlike Shigenobu and Okabe, Ryohei says nothing to Ryoma after the fight. And there is simply no reason to. No special bonus has been promised to him. No secret arrangement exists between them. The victory belongs entirely to Ryohei himself.

In many ways, their relationship has always been different. Among all the fighters Ryoma has worked with over the years, Ryohei is probably the one who has suffered the most during sparring.

Part of his growth undeniably comes from those experiences. But growth changes relationships. Before this, Ryoma felt like a mentor. Now, standing at the top of the Japanese division, Ryohei no longer sees him that way.

And unlike Okabe, Ryohei does not celebrate wildly over that easy victory. He simply stands at center ring, a microphone at hand while looking toward one particular section of the arena, the Kyoto supporters.

“I beat your hometown hero again,” he begins.

A mixture of cheers and boos immediately rises from the audience. Ryohei simply waits for neither side to finish before adding:

“And if you’re still not satisfied with that, then go home and tell Umemoto to get ready. Because this time, I’m going to use him as a stepping stone before challenging the world.”

The arena grows noticeably louder. The reaction becomes explosive. Some cheer, some boo, while the rest simply stare.

“OH, COME ON!” The lead commentator laughs in disbelief while the arena continues erupting around them. “He really just said that! Not only is he calling out Umemoto, he’s calling him a stepping stone!”

“And that’s exactly why this crowd is losing its mind right now,” the second commentator replies. “Umemoto is still one of the biggest names in Japanese boxing.”

“You know what’s scary?”

“What?”

“After the performance Ryohei just gave tonight, that doesn’t sound nearly as crazy as it should.”

“That’s the uncomfortable part, isn’t it?”

“Because whether people like it or not, he might have earned the right to say it.”

Sitting at ringside, Kirizume can only fold his arms. Based on what he witnessed tonight, Ryohei’s confidence no longer sounds like empty bravado. If anything, the performance only reinforces the feeling that he is genuinely ready to pursue that challenge.

And while Kirizume is still assessing what Ryohei’s future might look like beyond the Japanese scene, Ryoma casually leans toward him from the neighboring seat, as though they are simply continuing an unfinished conversation from earlier.

“So,” Ryoma says lightly, “how about it, Kirizume-san? Would you let us borrow Kazuya Tojo as a stepping stone for our Satoru?”

For a brief moment, Kirizume simply stares at him. The wording alone is insulting. Not because Ryoma is proposing a fight, but solely because of the phrase stepping stone.

Ryoma is not only talking about using Kazuya Tojo as a stepping stone for Satoru. He is talking about using the reputation of Kirizume Gym itself as a stepping stone for Ronin’s rise.

And the worst part is how casually he says it. Maybe Ryoma is being arrogant. But Kirizume can feel that Ryoma is provoking him on purpose.