VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Fear doesn’t always warn you of danger. Sometimes it teaches you how to see it everywhere. And lately, Ryoma has begun to feel that even something as simple as running under the rain carries that same uneasy edge, as if the world itself has started to look slightly wrong through his eyes.

He continues his roadwork alone in the rain, refusing to break routine despite the discomfort. Each step forward looks disciplined on the surface, but beneath it unease lingers.

The fear of repeating past failures begins to resurface, quietly pushing him to keep running even as everything around him feels uncertain.

He stops only when he reaches the edge of the road, waiting for the passing cars before crossing.

In that brief pause, somehow, his mind drifts back to his debut loss against Kazuya Tojo.

”The expectations were enormous.”

”A two-time Interhigh champion stepping into the professional stage…”

”Yet in his debut, he was completely shut down…”

”Unable to show even a fraction of what everyone believed he could become.”

The frustration from that loss feels distant, yet strangely close, lingering in Ryoma’s mind and feeding an impatience that grows with every passing second, an urge to prove that he can finally live up to everyone’s expectations.

When the road ahead finally looks empty, he immediately resumes jogging and steps into the crossing.

And that’s when…

Hoooonk!

A sharp horn from a small truck slices through the silence, and by the time Ryoma fully registers his surroundings, the vehicle is already upon him, clipping his left leg with brutal force.

The truck comes to a sudden stop on the wet road. Ryoma lies sprawled on the asphalt as rain pours over him, each breath breaking unevenly under the weight of pain.

From his low, disoriented viewpoint, a man approaches. The figure leans down, half-bowing as if checking on his condition, close enough for Ryoma to see his face through the blur of rain and shock.

But the words that follow carry no concern at all.

”This is what happens when you’re too reckless, not paying attention to your surroundings. Got yourself hit, huh?”

A surge of anger rises in Ryoma’s chest. His blurred vision slowly sharpens, narrowing onto the face above him.

In that moment of recognition, the expression twists into a familiar infuriating grin Ryoma knows too well, Shunpei Noguchi.

”You…?!”

Driven by infuriating emotion, Ryoma tries to lunge up, intending to grab him by the throat. But a violent spike of pain shoots through his left knee, forcing him to clutch it instead.

And then, everything disappears. The pain is gone. The wet asphalt is replaced by a messy bed sheet beneath him. There is no rain, no truck, no Noguchi standing over him.

Ryoma blinks, his face pale as he wakes in the darkness of his room, still lying in bed with his hand clenched around his left knee as if the pain never truly left him.

”…A dream?”

He slowly pushes himself upright, one hand pressing against his forehead as frustration settles in. The same nightmare has been returning too often at night, wearing him down in ways he cannot ignore anymore.

And yet what bothers him most is not just the repetition, but the details.

”…And why the hell does it have to be Noguchi…?”

***

Dawn in Tokyo carries a faint spring chill on early April, the kind of air that still clings to winter but no longer belongs to it.

Ryoma steps out of his apartment building in silence, already dressed for his morning roadwork. He pauses briefly at the entrance, then turns his head to the right toward the neighboring door, Aramaki’s apartment.

It has been three days since the brutal title fight, and Aramaki is still in recovery. That is why Ryoma has been running alone at dawn ever since.

In that quiet solitude, the same unease has been following him, an unshakable sense of being watched, as if something unseen moves with him through the empty streets he runs every morning.

And now, for the first time, he begins to wonder if that lingering fear is what has been bleeding into his sleep, shaping itself into the nightmare that keeps returning.

>

Ryoma lets out a tired breath, his expression flat with annoyance. ”Early in the morning, and I’m already getting talked to like this…”

A voice suddenly answers from behind him.

”Eh, what is it?”

Ryoma flinches and turns around, only to find Kaori standing right there. She’s still in her pajamas under a coat, holding a plastic bag, her expression full of curiosity as she glances around.

”Ryoma…? Did you just talk to yourself?”

”What? No, I didn’t… I…”

Kaori immediately breaks into a quiet laugh, covering her mouth as she tries to hold it in.

”Ah… I get it. You’re worried about Aramaki, aren’t you? And you were just scolding him in your head again, right?”

Ryoma blinks, then exhales with an embarrassed smile. ”You… you really can read minds. Wait… what are you doing out this early anyway?”

”I just came back from the pharmacy,” Kaori says, lifting the plastic bag slightly.

Ryoma frowns. ”His fever still hasn’t gone down?”

”It’s not a fever anymore. Now it’s just a headache,” she replies. ”I told him not to stay up all night, but he kept rewatching the fight footage.”

Ryoma clicks his tongue. ”That guy really needs a proper lecture.”

He starts to turn as if to go find Aramaki, but Kaori quickly stops him.

”No, don’t. You’ll only make his headache worse. You’re going for roadwork, right? Go. Don’t let my husband’s problems mess up your preparation any more than this.”

She then continues walking toward her apartment. ”You’ve already helped him achieve his small dream. Don’t let it get in the way of your bigger one.”

The door closes behind her without another look back. Ryoma stands there for a moment, then turns away, preparing for his roadwork.

***

Once he reaches the edge of the street, the unease returns immediately. His eyes scan left and right, sharper now, more cautious.

And then he notices it again, a car parked far down the complex road. More than three hundred meters away, but he recognizes it instantly.

It’s the same car that has been appearing near the gym, the same one that shows up at that exact same spot early in the morning whenever he goes for roadwork. He has tried approaching it before, but every time he moved closer, it left.

This morning as well, with a frustrated expression, he walks toward the car again, his fists tightening as the urge to hit them builds. Yet strangely, this time the car doesn’t move at all.

>

>

Ryoma ignores the voice, but he keeps going.

Truth to be told, the two men are sleeping inside the car. One Hispanic, one Caucasian.

Ryoma knocks on the window, but there’s no response. So he simply hits the roof of the car hard.

BANG!!!

Both men jolt awake, instantly alert. But when they see Ryoma, their expressions relax instead of panicking.

The Hispanic man rolls down the window. ”Jesus Christ… You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Ryoma stares at him, confused more than anything. This isn’t the reaction he expected.

”What are you doing here?” he asks coldly.

The man glances around the empty street first, acting clueless for a moment before finally replies, completely casual.

”What’s wrong with me parking here?” he asks.

”Don’t play dumb with me,” Ryoma says. ”You’ve been following me for two months. Now tell me, what do you want?”

The man pauses, thinking, then blinks. ”Wow. Your English is actually pretty solid.”

He looks to his partner. ”Man… we went through all that trouble finding an interpreter, and he speaks English.”

Ryoma’s confusion deepens, but his suspicion doesn’t fade. The man reaches inside his jacket, and Ryoma’s body reacts instantly, grabbing the man and drags him out of the car.

”Hey… What the hell? Let go of me!”

”Don’t try anything stupid here!” Ryoma snaps, grabbing the man by the neck.

”What are you talking about, man? I’m just a journalist!”

”Journalist my ass,” Ryoma growls. ”What kind of journalist follows someone across countries and stalking in months like this?”

The man actually pulls out his press ID. ”A dedicated one.”

Ryoma stares at it, still tense. Slowly, he loosens his grip and takes the card, inspecting it. His expression shifts from fear to confusion, realizing he may have overreacted.

The man smirks slightly. ”I thought a top fighter like you would be calmer.”

His partner cuts in. ”Hey, Pablo, don’t forget what happened to him in Manila. And his next fight is in less than three weeks. He has every reason to be alert.”

Pablo shrugs, then turns his attention back to Ryoma. ”Fair enough. And yes, we’re here for that kind of story. Not that I’m hoping anything happens to you… but who knows, something like that could always repeat itself.”

Ryoma’s eyes sharpen immediately. He grabs Pablo again and actually pulls him out of the car.

”Hey, hey… careful, you damn monkey!”

Ryoma yanks him to the other side of the road and slams him against the concrete fence.

”This is your last warning. Stop following me. If I see you again, don’t cry when break your nose.”

The Caucasian man steps out quickly. ”Hey, chill. If you do that, you’ll ruin your own career.”

Ryoma’s jaw tightens. He shoves Pablo back toward the car, then turns and walks away without another word.

The two men watch him leave, still acting like two journalists who have just gotten out of trouble. But after a moment, their expressions change. The easygoing look fades, replaced by something colder and more focused.

Pablo glances at his partner. ”So what now? Should we leave him alone?”

”You know why we’re here,” the Caucasian man says, moving around the car. ”Now that he’s alone, we have more reason to follow him. Let’s go.”

He opens the door, and gets inside. Pablo follows shortly after. The engine starts, and the car pulls out slowly, rolling in the same direction Ryoma went.