VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Sera’s steps come to a halt as Kenta and Hiroshi reach Satoru first, searching his face and checking his condition before guiding him back toward the corner.

”You did good out there,” Kenta says, steadying him by the arm.

”That was almost yours, just bad luck,” Hiroshi adds as they walk him in.

Sera watches in silence as Satoru moves. Satoru’s balance is still slightly off, the counter’s impact still lingering. But guilt still builds in Sera’s chest, because Satoru looks like he’s still capable of continuing the fight.

On the red corner, Shigemori and the team are visibly relieved, exchanging quick smiles and light applause. But Tojo remains still, his eyes locked on Satoru with lingering hatred and irritation.

He can feel his own legs still slightly trembling, the strength not fully returned after the punishment from earlier exchanges, his head carrying a dull dizziness that refuses to clear.

And seeing Satoru standing steady across the ring, looking more stable than him despite everything, gives him the bitter impression that he was fortunate the towel came in when it did.

Moments later, the announcement echoes through the arena:

”Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner by technical decision due to corner retirement… Satoru!”

Shigemori and his team begin clapping overhead, joined by parts of the crowd that had been backing Tojo since the beginning.

But Tojo does not respond. Even as Shigemori raises his arm, he remains stiff, still staring at Satoru with clear dissatisfaction, refusing to acknowledge the result.

”The reaction in the red corner is… tense,” one commentator notes. ”You don’t often see a fighter like Tojo take a win like this.”

”Yeah, and this is going to carry forward,” the other replies. ”Especially with what’s coming next. We’re still in Nakahara versus Kirizume territory, and the main event is a title fight. This rivalry isn’t cooling down anytime soon.”

Despite the result, the atmosphere in the arena remains charged, anticipation still hanging in the air as a small group of fans breaks through the noise to support the young fighter who just went down swinging.

”Good fight, Satoru!”

”You did your best!”

”Keep your head up, kid!”

Kenta and Hiroshi acknowledge the support, clapping overhead in appreciation of the crowd’s reaction. But Satoru stays silent, his head kept low, shoulders still.

And that silence from Satoru unsettles Sera more than any complaint ever could. He wonders if Satoru is disappointed, angry, or silently comparing him to Ryoma, questioning whether the decision would have been different.

***

Back in the locker room, Ryoma has already left the bench, mitt pads hanging loosely in one hand as he prepares to help Aramaki with his warm-up.

Yet his attention never fully leaves the flat screen mounted on the wall. His Vision Grid continues running in the background, his eyes subtly drifting across the ring, still collecting and breaking down details without pause.

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The voice in his mind cuts in calmly, almost detached.

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Ryoma’s gaze stays fixed on the screen as the analysis continues to build itself without effort.

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Aramaki, standing two steps in front of Ryoma, lets his frustration spill out as his eyes stay locked on the screen.

”Man… he’s throwing the towel too soon. Doesn’t he realize how strong that kid is?”

The remark pulls Ryoma’s attention slightly, sharp enough to register that even Aramaki sees something worth questioning.

But before the thought settles, Nakahara’s voice cuts in from the side, calm but firm.

”It’s not that simple,” he says. ”As a coach, it’s never easy watching your fighter take clean shots every round. There’s concern, sympathy, hesitation. But you also have to weigh risk. And right now, the situation doesn’t call for taking unnecessary chances, especially not in a fight like this.”

He turns his head toward Aramaki. ”This isn’t a title fight. We gave Satoru this match to earn his Class-A license. There’s no reason to gamble his entire career on one night just to get that license.”

Aramaki, standing two steps in front of Ryoma, lets his frustration spill out as his eyes stay locked on the screen.

He falls silent for a moment afterward, as if trying to understand Sera’s position, but the doubt doesn’t leave him.

Then he turns toward Ryoma. ”You know what kind of fight I’m about to have with Serrano,” he says. ”I might end up taking a lot of shots to the face. I’m putting my life and my career in your hands, and I trust you to make the right call.”

His face turns serious. ”Just remember this, I’m a lot tougher than Satoru. And if you ever make the wrong call and decide to let me continue when you shouldn’t, I won’t blame you.”

Ryoma doesn’t respond immediately. He studies Aramaki for a brief moment, fully understanding what is really being said beneath the words.

It’s a subtle warning not to stop the fight too early, a preference for risk over caution. It makes sense to him, because this is a title fight, not a developmental match.

Ryoma finally gives a small nod. ”Don’t worry about that. My job here is to make sure you never end up in a situation where I even have to consider throwing in the towel.”

Then he passes the mitt pads to Nakahara. ”Now warm up properly and clear your head. I don’t want you repeating Satoru’s mistake of ignoring your corner.”

A moment later, the door opens and Satoru returns with the corner team, the silence between him and Sera still hanging in the air like something unfinished. Even Hiroshi and Kenta sense it now, choosing not to speak as they step back into the locker room.

Satoru looks up, and his gaze briefly meets Ryoma’s. But Ryoma simply turns away, gives a short nod toward Nakahara, and steps aside as the focus shifts elsewhere.

Nakahara lifts the pads, already inviting Aramaki forward.

”Let’s get you ready.”

The sharp, rhythmic pak-pak of mitt work immediately fills the room, cutting through whatever tension Satoru is carrying, as if the space itself refuses to acknowledge it.

A doctor assigned to Satoru steps inside shortly after and speaks up as he approaches. ”Satoru, please sit down. I need to check your condition right away.”

Satoru doesn’t move to the bench. Instead, he walks straight toward Ryoma and bows deeply.

”I’m sorry… I lost the fight.”

Ryoma’s eyebrows twitch slightly at the apology, something about it feeling misplaced. He isn’t the chief second in this fight, and yet Satoru is addressing him instead of Sera.

In Ryoma’s mind, if anything, the apology should have gone to Sera for not following instructions, for refusing adjustments that were given to him round after round.

For a moment, he considers saying it directly, almost letting the lecture come out instinctively. But he holds it back. After a brief pause, he simply turns slightly toward Satoru and gives a small nod.

”We will talk later, and make sure the loss won’t be in vain. We can’t change the past, but we can still make sure we don’t repeat it.”

Satoru listens carefully, then bows once more before finally moving to the bench and allowing the doctor to begin checking his condition.

As the examination starts, Satoru’s eyes linger on Ryoma. There is a sense of distance in him, something that feels colder than usual.

But it isn’t that Ryoma is ignoring him. He just cannot afford to deal with Satoru’s issue right now, as Aramaki’s words still sitting heavy in his mind, refusing to settle cleanly.

He had accepted Aramaki’s request earlier without hesitation, but not in the way a coach simply agrees with a fighter. To him, Aramaki is not just an athlete. He is a friend, someone closer to family than anything else he has in this world.

Kaori, little Nanako, and Aramaki, they are no longer separate parts of his life. They are tied together now in a way that makes every decision heavier than it should be.

And Aramaki’s safety is now in his hands, a responsibility that Ryoma never fully processed when he first asked Nakahara to take him in for this title fight.

Earlier, Ryoma told Aramaki to find the right mindset. But even right now, Ryoma himself hasn’t fully found his own.

***

Moments later, when Aramaki walks down the aisle toward the ring, the arena immediately responds with a rising wave of anticipation.

People recognize the kind of fighter he is; brave, relentless, always willing to trade, never backing down even when the damage piles up.

His supporters stand and shout encouragement, voices cutting through the noise with conviction, telling him to stay strong, to fight like always, to bring it home.

”Aramaki, let’s go!”

”You’ve got this, man!”

”Show that clown what you’re made of!”

At ringside, Kaori stands alone, attending her husband’s title fight by herself, while little Nanako has been left safely with Ryoma’s mother.

”Good luck, Aramaki,” she calls out softly but firmly. ”Just be yourself in there. I’m right here.”

Aramaki stops briefly, raises both clenched gloves in a grounded, confident gesture, and gives her a reassuring smile before continuing toward the ring.

Then Kaori’s voice calls out again, this time slightly lower, aimed not at Aramaki but toward Ryoma nearby.

”Ryoma… take care of him for me.”

It is a simple sentence, the kind spoken casually between friends without weight or expectation. But for Ryoma, it lands differently.

It carries a pressure he has never fully felt before, settling somewhere deeper than thought, heavier than responsibility alone.