VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

After another moment, Ryoma’s gaze drifts toward Jean-Pascal Roy, seated only a few seats away from Miguel Cabello. Unlike Cabello, whose smug grin still lingers across his face, Roy shows no trace of amusement.

His expression remains flat, yet his eyes stay fixed on Ryoma with an intensity that feels almost unsettling. Strangely, it is only after meeting Roy’s gaze that Ryoma finally realizes the uneasy feeling lingering inside him is not empty paranoia after all.

Back then, he couldn’t tell what his instincts were trying to warn him about. Now, for the first time, he thinks he can make a reasonable guess.

But again, for the third time, Nakahara’s voice cuts cleanly through Ryoma’s thoughts.

”Hey. That’s enough.”

Ryoma turns back toward him, his attention finally returning to the present, though a trace of confusion still lingers across his face.

”...What’s enough?” he asks.

”Your attention keeps wandering,” Nakahara says. ”First Miguel Cabello. Then Jean-Pascal Roy. I know you want to fight them. I understand exactly what you’re feeling. But this isn’t the time for any of that.”

He jerks his chin toward the opposite corner. ”Your opponent is Liam O’Connell. No matter how this fight has looked so far, he’s still one hell of a boxer. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him.”

Ryoma’s expression gradually settles, the distraction fading as his focus returns. ”I’m not underestimating him. I know exactly how dangerous he is. If this fight keeps dragging on...”

His eyes shift briefly toward Liam’s corner. ”...I’ll be the one in trouble.”

Before Nakahara can respond, the ring official’s voice echoes across the arena.

”Seconds out!”

Nakahara straightens and motions for the rest of the corner team to clear the ring. At the same time, Ryoma rises while Okabe quickly pulls the stool out beneath the bottom rope.

”You got a plan for the next round?” Nakahara asks, pausing with one hand resting on the ropes.

Ryoma gives a small nod. ”I know what’s coming next. And I know what I have to do.”

”Then focus on that,” Nakahara says as he finally steps through the ropes. ”Finish this fight first. We can think about your next opponent after that.”

An uneasy anticipation settles over Yoyogi Gymnasium as both fighters stand ready in their respective corners.

The noise never truly fades, yet beneath the cheers and chants lingers a different kind of tension, born from the feeling that the fight has quietly reached its turning point.

”Ladies and gentlemen, Round Five is just moments away!”

”This WBO Final Title Eliminator has absolutely lived up to the billing!”

”Ryoma Takeda has shown flashes of brilliance with those lightning-fast counters, but Liam O’Connell continues to answer with the kind of relentless pressure that has defined his entire career!”

”Everything these two men have worked for has led to this moment!”

”One of them will be walking away as the mandatory challenger to Miguel Cabello’s WBO world title... and neither man looks remotely willing to let that opportunity slip away!”

The bell finally rings to begin Round Five.

Ding!

Liam O’Connell strides straight toward center ring before planting his feet with quiet authority. His stance looks familiar, but his guard sits lower than before, both gloves resting around chest level instead of protecting his temples, presenting a far more aggressive posture.

Ryoma leaves his own corner at an unhurried pace. As he closes the distance, he resumes the same loose, swaying pendulum footwork, his body drifting lazily from side to side as he circles the perimeter.

Then, little by little, the rhythm begins to fade. His steps grow shorter, and the constant sway loses its energy. It almost looks as though the movement itself is becoming too exhausting to maintain.

”First… let’s fake my fatigue again.”

Eventually, Ryoma allows the pendulum to disappear altogether. He settles into a more squared version of his Philly Shell, his left arm shielding his left side and midsection while his right glove hangs just beneath his chin.

Unlike before, however, both shoulders now face Liam more directly, and his upper body leans subtly forward, as though he is no longer interested in giving ground.

”That’s different!”

”Ryoma abandons all that lateral movement. He’s standing his ground now!”

”The Philly Shell is still there, but he looks ready to exchange this time!”

Ryoma casually flicks out a series of light jabs, serving as quiet invitations, little teases meant to draw a reaction.

Liam simply rolls his upper body from side to side, slipping each jab with subtle head movement, never once raising his gloves to block.

Ryoma sends another flicker toward his face. And this time, Liam slips and steps in with both gloves remain free.

A sharp left straight opens the attack, and Ryoma’s right glove nudges the punch.

Pat.

When Liam chains it with a right cross and a lead hook, Ryoma presents his lead shoulder before shifting his right glove toward the outside of his head.

Dug. Dug.

Neither punch finds its target.

But Liam keeps coming; another left straight shoots toward the jaw, a right cross follows, then another lead hook upstairs.

Ryoma answers with the exact same defensive rhythm. His right glove parries the straight, lead shoulder redirects the cross, right glove slides across to shield the side of his head.

Pat. Dug. Dug.

”Liam’s repeating the same combination!”

”And Ryoma keeps reading it! Every punch is finding the guard!”

Stubbornly, Liam repeats the same sequence; left straight, right cross, lead hook. Ryoma cannot help noticing the pattern, and his attention shifts toward finding the perfect timing for a counter.

He parries the straight, and rolls the cross away with his shoulder.

Pat. Dug.

But then, just as he prepares to fire after the hook, Liam flips the game.

”I’m not that naïve.”

Instead of whipping the hook, the veteran curls the glove around Ryoma’s right hand and yanks it sharply downward.

For the briefest instant, Ryoma’s right arm becomes completely useless.

”What the…”

Liam wastes none of it. A straight right rockets toward the jaw, forcing Ryoma to use his left hand to cover the jaw.

Dug.

And the lead hook comes again.

Ryoma sees it coming, but there’s nothing he can do.

DSH!

It crashes against his temple, snapping his head violently to the side.

”Brilliant adjustment from Liam!”

”He trapped the defending hand before firing the real combination!”

As his balance falters, Ryoma immediately brings both gloves high, tightening his guard around his head. He steadies his footing as Liam bears down on him.

”Damn it... he fooled me.”

Liam steps in without hesitation, crashing two heavy overhead punches onto the reinforced guard.

DHUMP! THUMP!

The shell holds, but the impact rattles Ryoma’s arms.

Then Liam changes levels; two vicious body shots slam into Ryoma’s midsection.

BUGH! BUGH!

”Ryoma’s in trouble now!”

”This is the Liam O’Connell everyone warned us about!”

”For the first time this afternoon, the veteran is showing his true colors!”

The body shots force Ryoma to give ground, his feet carrying him several steps backward under the pressure. But just before his back can brush against the ropes, he plants himself firmly and refuses to retreat another inch.

In one smooth motion, he shifts back into the bladed stance of the Philly Shell. His body turns almost completely sideways, both feet aligned along a single line.

He offers Liam nothing except his left side, with his lead arm tucked tightly across his ribs, daring the veteran to find an opening through the narrowest target possible.

Liam shows no interest in searching for openings. He simply keeps hammering at the shell with another heavy overhead slams.

DHUMP! DHUMP! THUMP!

For the moment, Ryoma holds his ground.

But then, when he sees Liam’s rolling movement begins widening with the next sway, the Goosebumps crawl across Ryoma’s skin like in the previous round.

It’s the same warning, the same instinct screaming that something far more dangerous is finally taking shape.

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Ryoma remains perfectly still, his eyes narrowing as he focuses entirely on Liam’s movement. Every subtle detail sharpens into view; the shoulders rotating through a wider arc, the hips beginning to unwind, the muscles along Liam’s right forearm tightening a fraction before release.

His pupils contract. ”...I knew it. The Dempsey Roll.”

The first punch explodes toward his face, and Ryoma instinctively raises both gloves into a tight double guard.

BAM!!!

The hook slams squarely into his guard.

A collective gasp erupts across Yoyogi Gymnasium.

”THE DEMPSEY ROLL!”

”LIAM O’CONNELL HAS FINALLY UNLEASHED IT!”

Ryom blocks it clean, but the impact tears through his stance anyway.

His entire body is whipped violently to his left, the bladed posture collapsing under the force.

”Ryoma blocked the first punch...”

”But the shell is gone now!”

When his feet finally settle, Ryoma is no longer in his bladed stance. He is standing square to Liam now, both arms throbbing with numbness after absorbing the crushing impact.

And Liam has already swung to the opposite side, riding the momentum of the Dempsey Roll into the next attack.

”And the danger isn’t over!”

”Liam’s momentum is only building from here!”