VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Satoru, however, understands none of it. To him, Tojo’s irritation looks no different from what any experienced fighter might show toward a struggling rookie. Just another veteran trying to intimidate someone younger and less accomplished.

He simply turns away as if he never heard the comment at all. His attention is already on Sera waiting in the corner, hoping the break will bring some answer to the problems piling up inside the ring.

”Stop making that face,” Sera says as Satoru approaches him looking completely lost.

”Not me making this face,” Satoru says before sitting down on the stool. ”It’s him. How many times has that left counter landed so far?”

”And here you are, still looking healthy,” Hiroshi says, pressing an enswell against the swollen cheek beneath Satoru’s left eye. ”Don’t get so depressed. There’s still a long way to go. You’ll get your chance.”

”Hiroshi’s right,” Sera says. ”You aren’t that bad. You’re just confused because this is your first time fighting a southpaw. Get used to it first.”

”You’ve been saying that,” Satoru mutters. ”But still... everything feels so wrong.”

Sera crouches down in front of him and studies him for a moment.

”Then… let’s forget about the southpaw part.”

Satoru immediately looks up. ”What?”

”Forget it. You’ve spent four rounds thinking about it and it’s not helping you.”

”But that’s the whole problem.”

”No, that’s what you’re telling yourself the problem is. Every time he moves, you’re trying to read the stance, the angle, the counter, the foot positioning. Stop doing that. For the next round, I don’t want you thinking about any of it.”

”Then what do I think about?”

”His jab.”

Satoru blinks. ”Just that?”

Sera nods. ”I want you to spend one round doing nothing except finding the rhythm of that jab. Don’t worry about winning exchanges. Don’t worry about landing something big. Just figure out when he wants to throw it.”

Sera taps his glove. ”One problem. One answer. Stop trying to solve the whole fight at once.”

Satoru nods slowly. The confusion that has been following him since the opening round eases considerably. The task Sera gives him is simple, almost disappointingly simple, but that simplicity is exactly what makes it reassuring.

In a way, it reminds him of the Rookie Tournament. Ryoma rarely overloaded him with instructions between rounds. More often than not, he would reduce an entire fight into a single objective and ask him to focus on that alone.

One round, one task, nothing more. It’s so simple that Satoru feels as though he has something solid to hold onto.

Then the official steps forward.

”Seconds out!”

Sera, Hiroshi, and Kenta leave the corner immediately. And the moment they do, the atmosphere changes.

Satoru remains standing by himself as the stool is removed behind him. The instruction is still fresh in his mind.

Yet somehow, the longer he stands there waiting for the round to restart, the harder it becomes to hold onto that thought.

It isn’t that he suddenly forgets what Sera told him. Nor is it that the advice stops making sense. The problem is that other thoughts begin crowding in before the bell even rings.

”How will Satoru approach the fifth round?” one commentator asks. ”He’s clearly behind at the moment, but we’ve seen this before.”

His partner immediately agrees. ”Exactly. Some of his biggest wins during the Rookie Tournament started this way. Then all of a sudden he would figure something out, explode for a single round, and finish the fight.”

Their comments are harmless. They are meant as praise. But standing there alone, Satoru finds himself hearing something else.

Ever since winning the All Japan Rookie Tournament and receiving the MVP award, people have stopped looking at him as a promising young fighter. More and more, they look at him as Ryoma Takeda’s successor. The next Ryoma.

During the tournament itself, that pressure never felt particularly heavy. Ryoma was always nearby, always present in the corner, always the person attracting most of the attention whenever cameras or reporters appeared.

But tonight is different. Tonight Ryoma isn’t here. And without realizing it, Satoru begins thinking less about Tojo’s jab and more about whether he can live up to the expectations that Ryoma’s name places on his shoulders.

The bell rings a moment later…

Ding!

…snapping Satoru out of his reverie.

Instinct immediately takes over. Satoru steps out of the corner and begins moving with the same slow, relaxed pendulum rhythm he has relied on throughout his career, gently shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Somewhere between leaving the corner and hearing the bell, Sera’s instruction has already faded into the background.

The plan was to focus on Tojo’s jab, to simplify the fight, to spend an entire round solving a single problem. Instead, Satoru finds himself returning to familiar habits.

He thinks about establishing his rhythm, taking control of the pace, finding openings and gradually imposing himself on the fight.

In other words, he starts trying to solve everything again. Just like he has been doing since the opening round.

”Satoru comes out looking a little more proactive this round,” one commentator says as the fifth begins. ”You can see him trying to establish his own rhythm now.”

”That’s been one of his strengths throughout his career,” his partner replies. ”That relaxed pendulum movement, the probing jab, the constant sway. He likes to settle into a rhythm first and make the other man react to him.”

Satoru drifts forward behind a lazy cadence of jabs, his upper body swaying subtly as he inches toward center ring. The intention is obvious; he wants to get into his fight before Tojo can establish his own.

For a few seconds, it seems to be working. Tojo is forced to respond to the incoming jab and spend more time defending than attacking, making the younger fighter appear to be the one dictating the pace.

But the moment doesn’t last. Once Tojo begins mixing in his hit-and-run movement, changing angles after every short combination, and refusing to remain in front of him for more than a moment, the same uncertainty that has followed Satoru throughout the fight begins creeping back in.

Instead of narrowing his focus and solving one problem at a time, Satoru tries to compete with Tojo while simultaneously processing everything in front of him.

He tries reading the right jab, tracking the timing, identifying the angle changes, and spotting the traps hidden behind the feints, all at once.

***

For nearly half a minute, neither man lands anything meaningful. Most of the punches disappear into gloves and forearms, making the exchange look surprisingly even from the outside.

Then finally, Satoru makes a mistake. Believing he has finally found the timing of Tojo’s jab, he attempts to counter it, but in focusing on the timing, he completely misreads the angle.

”Oh, Tojo reacts well,” the lead commentator beams.

Then suddenly…

DSH!

…a compact left hook crashes into Satoru’s cheek and snaps his head sharply to the side.

”Beautiful setup from Tojo!” the second commentator shouts.

The veteran immediately steps in to capitalize.

Dug. Dug. Dug. Dug.

Four compact punches pound against Satoru’s guard in rapid succession before a left hook slips around the side.

Bugh!

The shot lands clean on the right side of the body.

Satoru lands a compact shovel punch to the liver, but Tojo barely gives him time to enjoy it. The veteran fires a short right uppercut through the middle and rolls straight into a tight left hook.

Thuck! DSH!

…then gone, stepping out at an angle before Satoru’s counter can reach him.

”That’s veteran boxing right there!”

”Satoru finally lands something meaningful, and Tojo immediately makes him pay for it.”

”And look at the exit angle. No wasted movement, no lingering exchanges. He lands, he pivots, and he’s gone before the counter can even start.”

The crowd erupts in excitement, but Satoru barely hears it. His mind is already drifting back toward the gap between reputation and reality.

”This is the same guy everyone remembers getting knocked out in one punch.”

”Then why does it feel like I can’t do anything against him?”