VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Before Ryoma’s confusion can sink any deeper, the system speaks again, its tone as irritatingly matter-of-fact as ever.

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Ryoma’s eyebrow twitches. ”...The hell are you talking about?”

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For a strange moment, Ryoma doesn’t even hear the crowd anymore. Instead, he remembers another voice, his own words in countless sparring sessions with Ryohei.

”You’re hesitating.”

”Scared?”

”That’s why your punches have no weight.”

”Coward.”

He used to say those exact words. Now, hearing them thrown back at himself, they’re unbelievably irritating.

And without realizing it, Ryoma remains standing exactly where he is instead of circling away from the ropes. His pride refuses to let him move, not until he proves those words wrong.

”This is bold!”

”Most fighters would get off the ropes immediately.”

”Ryoma is practically inviting the pressure!”

Before him, Liam O’Connell’s expression grows noticeably more serious. Those three consecutive counters have convinced the veteran that the young Japanese is every bit as dangerous as advertised.

His face still carries the fresh traces of Ryoma’s punches, but his mind remains perfectly composed. If anything, his pride now demands repayment, with something he has deliberately kept hidden through the opening rounds.

Seeing Ryoma still standing near the ropes, calmly waiting instead of circling away, only strengthens that urge.

Liam steps forward behind a long guard and abruptly crashes two heavy overhead punches down.

Ryoma’s lifts his guard, and...

DUMP! THUMP!

Even through the block, the impact drives him backward until his back brush against the ropes.

Ryoma absorbs the force, plants his feet, and quietly melts back into the Philly Shell, turning his body into a bladed stance.

Liam’s eyes narrow. ”So we’re doing this again...”

He immediately begins weaving as he advances, shoulders rolling from side to side, gathering rhythm before unloading another crushing blow.

THUMP! THUMP! DUMP! THUMP!

”Listen to those impacts!”

”Those punches are landing on the guard, but they’re still driving Ryoma into the ropes!”

”That’s tremendous physical pressure!”

Liam is no longer hunting Ryoma’s head. He’s trying to destroy the shelter protecting it. Each heavy blow pounds against the shell, determined to crack it open through sheer force.

Another overhead punch crashes into Ryoma’s lead shoulder.

DHUMP!

Another slams against his left forearm covering the chest.

THUMP!

For the first time in the fight, a dull ache shoots through Ryoma’s left arm. So when the next punch comes, Ryoma finally rolls with it.

Liam swings a compact right hook into the shell, and Ryoma subtly turns his lead shoulder inward, letting the surface redirect the impact instead of absorbing it cleanly.

The deflection carries Liam just slightly off balance, and…

Dsh!

Ryoma’s coiled right snaps straight through the center.

”Listen to this crowd!”

”They know exactly what they just witnessed!”

”That wasn’t just a block. That was a trap!”

The counter jolts Liam upright, but the system is far from happy.

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Annoyed, Ryoma follows it with a straight left, this time driving off his rear foot and rotating his hips through the punch, determined to put real weight behind it.

But Liam doesn’t hesitate, committing with his own left straight at the exact same moment, forcing a dual exchange.

”Let’s trade this…”

Ryoma sees the punch coming and reacts fast, knocking the punch downward with his right glove.

But the punch still goes through anyway, and…

DHUAK!

The fist slams into Ryoma’s collarbone.

”There’s the answer from Liam!”

”He hammered that left straight into the collarbone!”

”Ryoma got shoved right back into the ropes!”

The impact jolts Ryoma’s entire upper body backward, leaving his own left hand falling just short of its target as the ropes catch him once again.

”Damn… that was close.”

Liam doesn’t pause. He resumes weaving, shoulders rolling left and right as he stalks forward. At first, nothing seems different. But Ryoma already feels something strange.

Goosebumps suddenly spread across his skin, the same instinctive warning that always appears whenever something far more dangerous is about to happen.

Then he notices it; Liam’s rolling movement has become wider.

”...What’s he going to do now?”

Before the danger can fully take shape…

Ding!

The bell rings, and the referee immediately steps between them, preventing Liam from throwing any punch.

”What a round!” the lead commentator explodes with excitement. ”Liam O’Connell was really turning the tide there. He had Ryoma backed up on the ropes, and honestly, the bell may have come at the perfect time. Another few seconds, and we might’ve seen something big!”

”Well... I’m not ready to say the bell saved Ryoma just yet,” his partner replies. ”Look at everything he’s done so far. Every time Liam has put him in trouble, Ryoma has found an answer. Even without the bell, I wouldn’t rule out another escape… or even another counter.”

”Fair point. But one thing is certain: this fight is only getting hotter.”

”It really is. Neither man is holding anything back anymore. They’re not just trying to win rounds... they’re trying to break each other in there!”

Meanwhile, Ryoma lingers by the ropes a little longer, his eyes following Liam’s back as the veteran walks toward his corner.

The curiosity refuses to leave him. That strange feeling from the final exchange still lingers, as though there was something he had failed to see.

Then Nakahara’s voice finally pulls him back.

”Kid...”

Ryoma exhales quietly and starts toward his own corner, giving a small shake of his head.

”...That was close.”

”Really so close.”

”He almost got my jaw back there.”

The system immediately scoffs.

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Ryoma frowns. ”Enough already. Didn’t you see it? He was aiming straight for my jaw.”

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Ryoma suddenly stops just before reaching the stool. His eyes narrow as he begins replaying the exchange from an entirely different perspective.

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And again, Nakahara’s voice cuts through the noise inside Ryoma’s head.

”Kid, sit down!”

Ryoma blinks once, turns around, and quietly drops onto the stool, allowing the corner team to begin their routine. A towel brushes across his face before Nakahara places a water bottle in his hand.

”Good round,” Nakahara says. ”You adjusted well. That combination near the end was the cleanest you’ve landed tonight.”

Ryoma takes a mouthful of water, swishes it around, then spits it cleanly into the bucket. Outwardly, he looks attentive. In reality, he barely hears a single word.

His thoughts remain locked inside his own head, replaying that final exchange over and over again. One part of him desperately wants to reject everything the system has just said. His pride refuses to believe he had thrown away the biggest opportunity of the fight.

But another part, far calmer and far more rational, keeps reconstructing the sequence frame by frame; the timing, the distance, the reach difference, the speed.

Every conclusion leads to exactly the same answer; the system was right.

”...Damn it.”

Ryoma’s gaze drifts toward the opposite corner, then slowly wanders across the arena.

It’s an instinct he has never experienced before; the kind of moment someone realizes he may have just exposed the most embarrassing side of himself, a quiet urge to see how everyone else is reacting.

Did they notice?

Did they see me hesitate?

Are they seeing me a coward now?

But the scene before him couldn’t be more different. Yoyogi Gymnasium is still roaring. Thousands of Cruel King Army supporters continue waving their flags and cardboard signs, chanting his name with excitement.

The commentators are still replaying his exchanges, praising his defense, his counters, and the adjustments he has shown throughout the fight.

Nobody seems to have noticed. Yet the embarrassment refuses to leave.

Then his eyes settle on Miguel Cabello, wearing a smug grin as he leans toward the man beside him, saying something with a quiet chuckle.

Ryoma can’t hear him, but His Vision Grid quietly follows the movement of Cabello’s lips.

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Cabello ends it with a quiet chuckle, his eyes never leaving Ryoma, the dismissive look on his face making the insult sting even more.

Ryoma’s grip around the water bottle slowly tightens. A slow burn twists through his chest.

”Keep laughing...”

”While you still can.”