VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Even so, Kenta refuses to abandon everything Nakahara have taught him. He continues fighting the only way he knows, trusting the textbook structure that has carried him this far.

Yet as the rounds wear on, another thought gradually creeps into his mind.

I need to get into that state...

But how do I get there?

Another heavy left slams into his side.

THUD!

And Kenta gives another step.

”What’s missing...?”

Della Cruz immediately capitalizes, driving him back to the ropes and pinning him there behind another relentless burst.

Dug! Dug! Thud! DSH! Dug! Bugh!

Kenta shells up, trying to empty his mind, hoping the mounting pressure will carry him back to that familiar edge.

”That’s right…”

”Maybe I just let him take me there.”

But again, Della Cruz abruptly ties him up, content to eliminate any chance of a counter.

The referee steps forward, trying to break them. Della Cruz releases the clinch, steps back, and the bell echoes through Yoyogi Gymnasium.

Ding!

Kenta survives another round. The clinch itself helps him that much. Despite that, Della Cruz doesn’t look disappointed at all. He lingers for a moment, a faint smile still on his face as though preparing to throw another taunt.

But simply Kenta turns away, walking quietly toward his corner, his silence carrying a weight that feels dangerously close to despair.

Della Cruz clicks his tongue before turning toward his own corner. The confidence from moments earlier has faded into quiet disappointment.

”Seems like I expected too much from him,” he mutters.

”What is it?” Hermosa asks.

Della Cruz simply shakes his head before lowering himself onto the stool, allowing his corner to begin working on him. He accepts the water bottle, rinses his mouth, and spits into the bucket.

”One reason I wanted this rematch,” he says, ”was to prove I never needed the ring doctor’s help in Manila. But that wasn’t the main reason.”

He glances across the ring toward Kenta before looking back at Hermosa.

”Back in Manila,” Della Cruz continues, ”he made me feel something I’d never experienced before. He made me feel hopeless. That’s the version of him I wanted to beat. But we’re already heading into Round Seven, and he’s still fighting like every other contender I’ve beaten.”

Hermosa nods once. ”Then finish it next round. That should answer everyone who’s still talking about Manila.”

Della Cruz lets out a quiet breath and shakes his head. ”But I have to admit this. He’s tougher than I expected. I’ve landed clean on his head, his body... everywhere. But look at him. He still looks like we’re only a couple of rounds in.”

A faint smile crosses his face. ”I’ll beat him. Sure. But stopping him next round? That’ll take a miracle.”

After a brief pause, he adds dryly, ”...Or maybe another official stoppage.”

***

Across the ring, Kenta doesn’t look nearly as battered as the punishment might suggest. A faint swelling has formed beneath one temple and around the eyebrow. But most of Della Cruz’s heavier punches, however, landed around the side of the head, leaving little visible damage beyond a dull dizziness that has already faded.

Meanwhile, Hiroshi continues working over Kenta’s ribs, rubbing the area firmly with a towel after the countless body shots they have absorbed. Even then, Kenta shows little sign of discomfort. His breathing remains steady, and his posture never slumps against the stool.

It’s the same reason why Nakahara doesn’t look worried too much. He’s seen Kenta endure worse.

”How are your legs?” Nakahara asks.

Kenta rolls his ankles, then gives both legs a light shake.

”They’re fine.”

”Your arms?”

”Still good to go.”

”Your head?”

”Still clear.”

Nakahara nods with quiet satisfaction. ”Good. We’re only halfway through the night. There are still six rounds left. You’ve fought him well enough out there. Sure, he’s taken most of the rounds, but you’ve made him earn every single one of them. So keep your morale up. This fight is still ours to win.”

Kenta doesn’t say a word, only giving a quiet nod. Yet deep inside, he no longer shares Nakahara’s optimism.

He can picture himself surviving all twelve rounds. Even if Della Cruz knocks him down once or twice, he believes he can still get back to his feet. But surviving and winning are two entirely different things.

To beat the champion, he needs to enter the zone again. He believes that’s the only version of himself capable of overwhelming someone like Della Cruz.

The problem is, he has no idea how to reach it. Ryoma had only managed to guide him toward the conditions where it happened naturally, but even that was the limit of what anyone could do.

If Kenta is ever going to find that place again, he’ll have to discover the way himself.

***

When the bell for the seventh round sounds, Kenta lifts his gloves with his mind as empty as he can make it. He walks back to the center carrying only one thought.

”Endure the pressure... and let him drive me there.”

He no longer tries to outthink the champion. Instead, he shells up behind a tight guard, willingly giving Della Cruz the initiative.

One punch crashes into his gloves. Another follows, then another.

Thump! Dhump! BHUMP!!!

Rather than searching for openings, Kenta focuses on feeling each impact travel through his arms, shoulders, and legs, willing every muscle in his body to take over so his mind no longer has to command them.

If he remembers correctly, that’s the state he has been searching for.

”Oh! Moriyama isn’t moving!”

”He’s backed himself onto the ropes again!”

”And he’s not even trying to circle out!”

”Is this part of the plan... or is he simply running out of answers?”

Gradually, a familiar sensation begins to return. The punches no longer feel quite as chaotic.

Kenta starts leaning into the ropes at just the right moments, letting the tension of the cables soften part of the impact as his concentration steadily sharpens.

But just before that growing focus can become the adrenaline surge he has been waiting for, Della Cruz abruptly wraps him up in another clinch.

”Did you notice that? Della Cruz did it again. The clinch!”

”Exactly. Every time he finishes one of those long barrages, he ties Moriyama up before stepping away.”

”Well, that’s championship boxing. At the highest level, you’re not always chasing one spectacular punch. You’re trying to win every exchange while taking away your opponent’s chance to answer.”

”And little by little, those unanswered shots begin to pile up.”

”That’s what makes boxing so dangerous. It’s rarely just one punch. It’s the damage that accumulates over round after round.”

The pattern repeats itself over and over. Kenta continues surrendering the initiative, deliberately allowing the champion to drive him toward the edge he has been searching for.

Yet Della Cruz remains just as disciplined, ending every sustained barrage with a clinch before any meaningful counter, or anything more dangerous, can develop.

Neither man realizes the irony. One is trying to build enough pressure to awaken the zone, while the other, simply by fighting the safest fight possible, keeps cutting that process short.

***

The deadlock carries into the eighth round. On the scorecards, it becomes increasingly one-sided. Around the arena, a heavy silence suspended somewhere between hope and resignation.

”Is... is this really how it’s going to end?”

”I thought he could actually win tonight.”

”Yeah. I watched the Manila fight on TV. He didn’t look like this at all.”

”Maybe... the champion’s just too strong.”

Back in the blue corner, Nakahara can no longer hide the uneasiness on his face.

He truly believes the Kenta standing in that ring is capable of fighting Della Cruz on equal terms.

Yet now, his fighter has abandoned everything they talked about between rounds, repeatedly giving ground until his back touches the ropes.

”What are you doing, Kenta?!” Nakahara shouts. ”I told you to use your damn legs!”

The instruction falls on deaf ears. That was the game plan before the round began, to manage the distance with movement. But now Kenta is already trapped against the ropes, and that instruction no longer means anything.

”Answer him!” Nakahara yells again. ”Throw something back! You won’t win this fight by hiding behind that guard!”

But before Kenta can even attempt a counter, Della Cruz slips another clean shot through the opening, then immediately threads his arms around Kenta for yet another clinch.

”Damn it...” Nakahara mutters under his breath. ”He’s too good. Every time he lands a few clean shots, he kills the exchange himself before Kenta gets the chance to answer.”

The referee separates them once more. And normally, it’s the perfect chance to reclaim the center of the ring. Instead, Kenta remains standing only a step away from the ropes.

”The hell is wrong with you, Kenta?!” Nakahara roars. ”Get away from the ropes!”

The pattern refuses to change. Again, Della Cruz drives Kenta back to the ropes. Again, Kenta stays there, stubbornly chasing the sensation he believes will lead him back into the zone.

After a few strikes pounding on guard, another clean punch sneaks through.

Dug. Dug. Dugh. Thud!

And this time, instead of clinching outright, Della Cruz simply traps Kenta’s arms with his own, pinning him against the ropes with steady physical pressure, before creating a bit of room to strike again.

Bugh. Thud! Dug.

The referee watches closely but doesn’t intervene. There is enough separation to keep the action legal.

Again Della Cruz pushes his gloves toward Kenta’s forearms, and then releases the pressure only long enough to punch again.

Dug. Dug. DSH! Bugh!

Then he smothers Kenta once more, forcing him back into the ropes before striking again.

Thud! Thud!

Another push, and again.

Bugh! Dug. Thud!

And again.

Dug. Dsh! Dug.

Kenta’s patience runs out. The sensation he has been waiting for never arrives.

The moment Della Cruz creates another sliver of space and digs a shot into the ribs…

Thud!

…Kenta finally fires, swinging a compact left, timing it with the champion’s next punch.

DSH!

DHUACK!!!

”Oh! Moriyama finally answers!”

”They both landed!”

Both men freeze for the briefest instant. But Della Cruz recovers first, and immediately crashes back in.

Dug. Dug. Thud! Bugh! DSH! Dug.

This time Kenta refuses to shell up forever. He answers on the next opening he sees, and another simultaneous exchange detonates.

BAM! BHUMP!

And a split second later, they collide again.

DSH! DHUACK!!

Another pair of clean shots crashing home at the exact same instant.

”OOOHHH MY GOODNESS!!”

”WHAT AN EXCHANGE!!”