VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The final ten seconds of the round tick away, but Ryoma’s focus is no longer entirely inside the ring. His face tightens slightly as an unfamiliar pressure forms in his mind.

For weeks, he had conditioned Aramaki through a set of already-absorbed ideas disguised under simplicity, ensuring that when a specific instruction was chosen, it could be executed without hesitation or confusion.

But now, in the middle of the fight, Ryoma is being forced to consider something new, something that was never embedded within that framework.

It is not that Ryoma lacks ideas. But if he introduces something new now, it risks disrupting the rhythm that has already been established.

Before he can settle on a decision, the bell suddenly rings.

Ding!

”Solid round for the champion there,” one commentator says. ”Serrano controlled most of that with movement and volume.”

”Yeah, he clearly edged it,” the other replies. ”Even with Aramaki holding center like that, Serrano’s activity and angles gave him the round.”

”And still… you’ve got to say, Aramaki doesn’t look shaken at all. He’s staying composed in there.”

”That’s true. Despite everything Serrano threw at him, he’s not showing any signs of breaking mentally.”

Ryoma notices it as well. And he wants Aramaki to stay exactly like that. But he also knows, something has to be adjusted before the fight moves further out of reach.

The corner team moves quickly, and the movement pulls Ryoma out of his internal calculation. He blinks once, a brief delay flickering across his expression.

Nakahara immediately notices it. ”Hey, kid… let’s move.”

”Ah, right,” Ryoma answers, steadying himself as he climbs onto the ring.

Ryoma approaches Aramaki, carefully burying the dilemma in his expression so the fighter does not feel unnecessary pressure.

”So, how was it?” he asks, his tone stays light, almost casual

”He surprised me a bit there…” Aramaki lets out a short breath. ”How do I put it… he kind of fights like Rikiya.”

Ryoma reacts slightly, both eyebrows lifting for a brief moment as he blinks once, processing the comparison. Yes, Aramaki has already faced Cuban-style movement before against Rikiya Miyamoto.

For a moment, Ryoma allows himself a small recalibration. Maybe this is not as unfamiliar a problem as it initially appeared.

”Back then, Rikiya used to create space without relying on speed,” Aramaki continues. ”He always slipped out through the right angle, always found a way to reset without getting trapped. I beat him with one lucky punch, but honestly… I was completely confused for the entire fight.”

”So you’re telling me that fight didn’t teach you anything?” Ryoma asks.

”Not exactly.” Aramaki shakes his head. ”I was worried I might face him again, so after that night I watched a lot of fighters with that style. But there’s something Rikiya didn’t have… something Serrano has. I just can’t really explain it.”

”That’s the ’sugar’,” Sera chimes in.

”Sugar?” Aramaki repeats.

”In simple terms,” Ryoma answers instead, ”it’s the freedom to combine the foundations of multiple systems into one expression. It requires pure creativity. Something that fits Serrano’s nature.”

”And if Serrano has it,” Nakahara adds, ”then he becomes even harder to read than Rikiya.”

”But…” Aramaki hesitates. ”Dealing with Serrano didn’t feel as hard as when I fought Rikiya. Sure, he escapes through weird angles, but Rikiya’s footwork was smoother. Cleaner.”

Ryoma nods once. ”Rikiya was built inside that system for years. The technical level is different. But the unpredictability still gives Serrano an edge right now.”

”Ah, okay…” Aramaki says. ”So what’s next? How should I approach the fight after this?”

Ryoma crouches in front of him. ”Look, they’ve given him the perfect system to put structure behind that freedom. But that doesn’t mean they’ve actually tamed his wild side. That nature is still there, and we’ll bring all those bad habits back out.”

Aramaki frowns. ”So instead of simplifying his unpredictability, we’re trying to bring that freedom back out? Are you planning to make this fight even more complicated for me?”

”Don’t worry,” Ryoma says, smiling. ”You only need to fight the way you usually fight. Leave the complicated part to me. As for the next round, start walking him down. Constantly, but patiently. Don’t be too aggressive. And there’s one specific thing I want you to do. Mix in the high-low probing jabs.”

Recognition immediately flashes across Aramaki’s face. ”Ah, that spearing jab to the midsection with the three alternatives follow-ups?”

”Yeah, that one.” Ryoma nods. ”But don’t show him the chain yet, only the setup. I’m afraid they’ve already studied it, so we shouldn’t reveal it too early. Spend the next few rounds conditioning Serrano’s mind with that setup. Nothing more.”

Aramaki slowly nods several times. The instruction still feels simple enough because Ryoma isn’t asking him to use the chains yet.

Nakahara, however, doesn’t look comfortable with the idea. ”Kid, if he keeps showing the same setup over and over, you’re putting him at risk of getting countered.”

”Well,” Ryoma says calmly, ”that’s the idea.”

Before he can explain any further, the official’s voice cuts through the arena.

”Second out!”

Aramaki immediately rises to his feet while Hiroshi pulls the stool out of the ring. The team clears the corner without delay, but Ryoma lingers on the apron for a moment.

”You get it, right, Aramaki? Just a setup. Nothing more”

Aramaki gives a small nod before turning his attention back toward the opposite corner.

He understands the risk, understands exactly what kind of counter Ryoma is inviting. But the important part is that Ryoma wants something from Serrano.

And if stepping into danger is the price for getting it, then so be it.

***

When the bell for the second round sounds, Aramaki leaves the corner with his guard already raised, quietly repeating the instructions to himself.

”Walk him down…”

”Calmly...”

”Don’t rush...”

”Use the high-low probing jab…”

Across the ring, Serrano pushes off his corner with a completely different energy from the opening round. The relaxed swagger is still there, the loose shoulders, and the easy confidence.

That alone tells Aramaki enough. The disciplined version from the first minute of the fight is gone. This time, Serrano intends to fight with the Cuban-style from the opening.

Before Serrano even reaches range, Aramaki subtly adjusts his stance. His lead foot slides a little farther forward, his base widens slightly, and his level drops.

The champion studies him for a moment, and Aramaki makes no effort to hide what he’s doing.

He rises slightly and flicks a probing jab toward the head, then lowers his level and shoots another toward the midsection.

Neither punch is close to landing as Aramaki is still outside range. Yet Serrano reacts anyway, bringing his guard up before taking a small step backward.

”Oh? That’s different.”

”Yeah, Aramaki wasn’t showing any of this in the first round.”

”He’s definitely being more proactive now.”

”And look at Serrano’s reaction. Those punches weren’t even close, but they still got his attention.”

”Well, if both guys are finally starting to test each other instead of just gathering information, we might be heading toward the kind of exchanges everyone came here to see.”

Serrano keeps circling laterally. And Aramaki follows calmly, patiently.

Testing him, Serrano fires a long jab into the guard.

Dug.

Then immediately shifts direction with a Z-step and sends another, trying to land something clean from a new angle.

But Aramaki reacts well, blocking it with the disciplined guard.

Dug.

Serrano keeps the rhythm going; jab, move, change angle, jab again. Every so often, he mixes in a right hand from an awkward angle, but always from a safe distance, everything designed to keep Aramaki from reaching the range where he wants to fight.

Aramaki keeps walking him down, never accelerating, never forcing the issue. Every so often he repeats the same high-low probing sequence.

But he never follows it up, always resetting immediately afterward to avoid the risk of a counter.

”Don’t rush it…”

Aramaki reminds himself that it’s still too early. At this level, the opening rounds are often spent laying the groundwork for everything that comes later.

”Let Ryoma worry about the long-term structure.”

”My job is to do what’s right in front of me.”

Serrano still manages to sneak in the occasional jab to the chest and a few lead hooks to the ribs, but none of them carry much impact.

Most are thrown while he’s moving or from the edge of his range, never staying planted long enough to put real weight behind the shots.

”Serrano’s controlling the action,” the first commentator calls out. ”But he hasn’t been able to make Aramaki respect his power yet.”

”And that’s dangerous over a long fight,” the second adds. ”Because if the other guy isn’t worried about getting hurt, he’ll keep coming forward all night.”

And every time Aramaki shows the high-low setup, Serrano never looks for the counter. He simply gives ground and disengages instead.

The exchanges remain safe. The distance remains controlled. And little by little, without even realizing it, Serrano starts making Aramaki’s job easier by drifting closer and closer toward the ropes.

Even then, Aramaki doesn’t rush into taking additional risks. He simply continues feeding Serrano the same high-low probing jab, throwing it from a distance where neither punch has any chance of landing.

Then Ryoma calls out from the corner. ”That’s it, Aramaki! Keep showing him the jab!”

It sounds like instruction on the surface, but there is something deliberately provocative hidden underneath.

A grin appears on Ryoma’s face. ”Look at him. He’s already scared of your punches.”

Serrano’s brows twitch slightly, and his expression hardens for a brief moment. The remark irritates him, because from his perspective, what he’s doing has nothing to do with fear.

And the fact that it comes from Ryoma only irritates him even more.