VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma’s jaw tightens. For a moment, he simply stands there, staring at Kenta. His gaze sharpens, but the irritation visible on his face seems directed elsewhere. Not at Kenta, but at himself.

Without another word, he puts the headgear back on, then turns toward Nakahara.

”Let’s add another round.”

Nakahara immediately frowns. ”Oi… You’ve already entered the weight-management phase of camp. Pushing yourself too hard right now isn’t a good idea.”

”Just one round,” Ryoma replies coldly. ”That’s more than enough to shut this guy’s mouth.”

”Hey, hey...” Kenta raises both hands. ”I didn’t mean to offend you.”

”Shut up,” Ryoma shoots back. ”Don’t start backing off now after calling me a coward.”

”I said it already. I never called you a coward.”

”Okabe!” Ryoma calls. ”Hit the bell. Now.”

Okabe glances between the two fighters. The tension is obvious enough that he can practically feel it from outside the ring.

”Oh-hoo… this is getting interesting.”

With far more enthusiasm than he should probably have, he reaches for the bell.

Ding!

The moment the sound rings through the gym, Ryoma steps forward.

There is no circling this time, no probing, nor waiting. He steps inside and drives a heavy right. Kenta instinctively gives ground and raises his guard.

DUGH.

Then he begins sending a pair of straight punches to intercept Ryoma, then another, and then another.

Ryoma slips every one of them. A few gloves graze the side of his headgear, but none of them land cleanly.

As Kenta fires the fifth punch, Ryoma ducks underneath it and drives a left hook into the body.

THUD!

Pain immediately flashes across Kenta’s face. For the first time all day, he feels genuine weight behind Ryoma’s punches.

”He’s serious.”

Kenta grits his teeth around the mouthpiece. The urge to elevate the sparring rises almost immediately. His left shoulder twitches. His glove tightens.

But before the hook even leaves his hand, a chill runs down the back of Ryoma’s neck. The sensation arrives without warning.

Yet this time, not accepting being called a coward, he doesn’t retreat. Even without seeing the punch, he instinctively brings his right glove high, covering the side of his head.

Kenta’s hook crashes into the guard.

Thump!

The impact reverberates through Ryoma’s arm, but at the same moment, Ryoma answers with another left to the body…

THUD!

…before driving a compact right hand straight through the middle.

DHUACK!

The punch snaps Kenta’s head back, not enough to move him, but enough to make him respect it.

Ryoma immediately follows with another combination, then another, short hooks and compact shots, fast rotations of the hips and shoulders.

Kenta tightens his guard as punches continue to crash against forearms, elbows, and gloves.

Dug. BUGH! THUD!

Dug. Dug. THUD! THUD! BUGH!

Some are blocked. Most of them still slip through.

The pressure keeps coming. And strangely enough, this is exactly what Kenta needs. So instead of retreating, he steadies himself. His breathing slows, his thoughts quiet.

And gradually, he begins reading the rhythm hidden beneath the barrage; a slight shoulder twitch, a subtle shift of weight, the smallest change in angle.

For the first time in months, the familiar sensation begins returning. His mind empties, his adrenaline surges, and every muscle in his body feels ready to work on its own, without waiting for instructions or conscious decisions.

For once, Ryoma resets with a subtle pendulum step before flicking out a probing left, changes angle, and then fires a right hand toward an opening upstairs.

By then, Kenta is already standing at the edge of the zone. His concentration sharpens, instincts take over.

He knows a punch is coming, and at the same time, his own right hand is already eager to answer.

But suddenly, another chill crawls up the back of Ryoma’s neck, much stronger than before.

For a split second, he even sees something.

A glove, far larger than it should be.

Rushing toward him.

”What the...?”

The right hand he was about to throw reaches Kenta’s headgear only slightly, having lost most of its momentum as Ryoma immediately slips outside.

He retreats, taking several rapid steps backward until a wide stretch of empty canvas separates them once again.

Outside the ring, both Nakahara and Sera stare in disbelief, actually witnessing Ryoma abandoning a punch halfway through.

The opening had been there, clean and obvious, the kind Ryoma normally attacked without hesitation. Yet somehow, he had pulled back.

”Did you see that?” Sera asks.

Nakahara does not answer immediately, his eyes remain fixed on Ryoma.

More than the withdrawn punch itself, it is the timing that bothers him. The decision feels completely foreign to the fighter he has spent years coaching.

Before either of them can call out to Ryoma, a voice suddenly speaks from behind.

”Oh... he actually pulled his punch at that moment. What’s this? Another insult? Or is he just being modest?”

Nakahara turns, and his expression immediately sharpens. ”You. What are you doing here?”

The man simply smiles. ”Ah, please. Don’t mind me. Focus on the spar before that kid overdoes it. You know how he is.”

Nakahara clicks his tongue and turns back toward the action.

Inside the ring, Ryoma continues circling along the perimeter, looking alert, far too alert. The unease that had followed him throughout the morning only seems to be growing stronger.

He understands perfectly well that Kenta is a welterweight. He knows the size difference between them has always been there.

Yet for some reason, Kenta now appears larger than usual, much larger. And Ryoma’s mind is no longer trying to rationalize the feeling.

Every anxious thought feeds into the next one. Every possibility grows heavier than it should.

The idea of stepping back into range feels increasingly dangerous, as though Kenta could suddenly reach him from a distance that should not even be possible.

Meanwhile, Kenta remains standing near the center of the ring. His guard stays high, his breathing stays steady.

While in the zone, he barely notices anything unusual with Ryoma. He is not thinking about anything. His attention is fixed entirely on the exchange itself, waiting for the next attack to come.

But the attack never comes. Seconds pass, and gradually, the sharpness begins slipping away. The heightened awareness fades. The rhythm disappears.

And eventually, Kenta blinks, then his brows knit together.

”Wait... What’s wrong with him?”

Earlier, he had seen Ryoma being unusually cautious. This time, however, he sees something else entirely. Ryoma actually looks scared, in a way Kenta has never seen before.

Unsure of what he’s seeing, Kenta takes a step forward. Just one step, nowhere near enough to reach Ryoma. Yet Ryoma immediately adjusts, taking a step back with the same instinctive precision he always relies on when managing distance.

To Ryoma, he is simply preserving the distance he needs. To everyone watching, he is giving away far more ground than necessary.

The sight only deepens the confusion spreading throughout the gym. Even Nakahara finds himself struggling to understand what he is seeing.

”This is... new,” Ryohei mutters, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. ”Is he actually scared of Kenta?”

But Okabe suddenly strikes the bell, seemingly oblivious to the confusion spreading through the gym.

Ding!

The sharp sound cuts through the tension. Ryoma blinks and instinctively turns toward it. For a brief moment, his attention leaves Kenta.

But when he looks back at him again, Kenta appears normal. The exaggerated sense of size is gone, no longer looks like some towering giant standing across the ring.

Ryoma’s breathing remains uneven, but at least now he finally recognizes the truth. Something is wrong with him.

The fear that has been following him for days is no longer simple caution. It has really turned into paranoia.

Kenta takes of his headgear and approaches him, showing concern with Ryoma’s condition.

”Hey, what’s wrong?”

”Nothing,” Ryoma immediately replies.

”What do you mean, nothing?” Kenta says. ”You look pale as hell. Did you even eat anything this morning?”

For a moment, Ryoma falls silent. Then he seizes the excuse Kenta has unknowingly handed him.

”Yeah,” he says. ”I left home without eating.”

He leaves it at that and turns away, clearly having no intention of continuing the conversation. However, before he can slip through the ropes, a familiar annoying grin greets him from the ringside.

”Looking slick as always, huh,” the man says. ”But what’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Ryoma’s expression immediately sharpens. The discomfort on his face is impossible to miss.

”Noguchi... What are you doing here?”