VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The investigation surrounding Hugo Ramirez becomes one of the biggest stories in professional boxing. And as public scrutiny intensifies, pressure also mounts on the WBO to prove the organization remains larger than any single promoter.

Determined to restore confidence and distance itself from the growing scandal, the sanctioning body wastes little time taking action. Its priority is clear: stabilize the championship picture before the controversy further damages the credibility of the organization.

Now, five days after Ramirez got arrested, Jorge Rivera arrives at Miguel Cabello’s residence on one quiet morning, an envelope in his hand.

It takes a while before the front door finally opens. Cabello stands there looking like he hasn’t slept properly. His hair is a mess, his eyes bloodshot, and the stale smell of alcohol escapes the room behind him.

”What?” he asks curtly.

Rivera raises the envelope. ”I just got this from the WBO.”

Cabello barely reacts. He simply steps aside with a weary sigh and gives a lazy tilt of his head, silently inviting Jorge inside.

Rivera enters the house and quietly closes the door behind him. Without saying anything, Cabello just drops onto the couch before reaching for a nearly empty bottle of whiskey resting on the coffee table.

Just as he wraps his fingers around it, Rivera places the sealed envelope directly in front of him.

”You should stop drinking.”

Cabello snorts. ”Don’t start acting like my old man. I need this.””

He raises the bottle and takes another long drink before continues speaking with restrained anger.

”That fucking Ramirez... I told him to leave the kid alone and let me settle it inside the ring. Instead, he tried to have him killed.”

His jaw tightens. ”And now look at the mess he dragged all of us into.”

”The WBO has officially ordered negotiations,” Rivera says.

Cabello stares blankly at the letter for a few seconds before letting out a hollow laugh.

”We have thirty days to reach an agreement with Ryoma Takeda’s camp,” Rivera continues.

Without warning, Cabello hurls the liquor bottle across the room.

CRASH!

The bottle explodes against the giant flatscreen television, showering the living room with shattered glass.

”Negotiate what?!” he roars. ”Ramirez is sitting in jail! His promoter’s license has been suspended! The FBI is tearing his company apart! What the hell are we supposed to negotiate now?!”

”How much money do you have?” Rivera asks.

Cabello frowns. ”...Why are you asking about my money now?”

”Didn’t you tell me before that you wanted to get away from Ramirez?” Rivera replies. ”That you wanted to promote yourself one day, just like Ryoma Takeda?”

Cabello falls silent for a moment. The thought seems to sober him ever so slightly, but only for a second before the alcohol drags him back into his irritation.

”About one million dollars,” he mutters.

Rivera’s eyes widen. ”Only one million? Where did the rest go?”

Cabello clicks his tongue. ”Spare me the lecture. You think the debt I owed Ramirez just vanished?”

He lets out a drunken scoff. ”Hell... maybe he’ll rot in prison. At least then I won’t have to pay him the rest.”

For a brief moment, Rivera simply stands there, one hand rubbing slowly across his forehead as he stares at the shattered television.

He exhales, forcing himself to calm down before pulling out a chair and sitting across from Cabello.

”Listen,” he says quietly. ”Ramirez was never the only man running this game. There are other promoters with the same interests. Ramirez may be out of the picture, but they still don’t want Ryoma Takeda becoming the face of world boxing.”

Cabello’s drunken irritation gradually fades into a more solemn expression.

”What are you getting at?”

Rivera hesitates briefly before answering. ”One of them contacted me. He offered to lend us a million dollars to persuade Takeda’s camp to bring the fight to Las Vegas.”

Rivera leans forward slightly. ”We fly to Tokyo. We negotiate. Offer Ryoma a purse.”

Cabello lets out a dry scoff. ”One million? That kid won’t even look at it.”

”Then add your own money,” Rivera replies. ”Make it two million if you have to. And if they still refuse... then we settle it through a purse bid. That way, the other promoters can…”

”Why don’t we just let the kid stage the fight?” Cabello cuts him off. ”I don’t mind where.”

Rivera’s expression stiffens. ”We can’t do that.”

”Why not?”

”You know why.”

Rivera doesn’t explain further. But the uneasiness in his eyes says enough, and Cabello can already picture the risk.

Ramirez may be behind bars, but the system he helped build is still very much alive. And if he chooses to stand against it, he won’t simply lose control of his own fight. He may lose far more than that.

***

Meanwhile, far from the political maneuvering surrounding the upcoming world title fight, Ryoma spends his recovery exactly the way he prefers. Rather than celebrating his latest victory, he spends another quiet afternoon at Aramaki’s apartment next door.

Inside the modest living room, the only thing demanding his attention is Nanako’s cheerful laughter, who is far more interested in playing aspiring boxer.

”Left! Right!”

”Hai!”

Pop! Pop!

Wearing a pair of tiny pink boxing gloves, Nanako enthusiastically punches the focus mitts Ryoma holds.

Each punch lands with more determination than power, yet the little girl beams proudly every time she hears the satisfying pop.

”Again.”

”Hai!”

Pop! Pop! Pop!

At the moment, Kaori is helping Ryoma’s mother at the barbershop. Aramaki, meanwhile, is busy playing with at ironing board, quietly pressing freshly washed clothes with the practiced ease of a full-time househusband.

And that leaves the little Nanako with the ever enthusiasm trainer Ryoma Takeda.

”Counter, Ryoma! Counter!”

”Eeeh? You want to practice counters? Alright... here we go.”

Ryoma casually swings one mitt over her head. It isn’t even close to hitting her, but Nanako still ducks dramatically beneath it before popping back up with a wide hook.

Pat.

”Hoho... what a beautiful counter. Nanako-chan might have hidden talent. She could become even better than Ryoma one day.”

Nanako immediately looks toward her father. ”Better than Daddy?”

Ryoma shakes his head dramatically. ”Your father is the strongest fighter in the world, Nanako-chan. Talent alone isn’t enough to surpass him.”

Aramaki chuckles without looking up. ”Hey, stop filling her head with ideas like that. If she actually decides she wants to become a boxer, we’ll all be in trouble.”

Suddenly, the front doorbell rings. Aramaki sets the iron upright and walks toward the entrance.

”Just a second.”

Ryoma continues playing with Nanako for another few moments until Aramaki returns with two familiar faces.

”There you are,” Nakahara says as he steps inside.

Ryoma lowers the mitts. ”Looking for me?”

”Yeah,” Kurogane replies. ”There’s something important we need to discuss.”

Aramaki quietly excuses himself and heads toward the kitchen, leaving the living room to them.

Ryoma slips off the focus mitts and kneels in front of Nanako.

”How about some shadowboxing while the grown-ups talk?”

”Hai!”

The little girl immediately begins throwing enthusiastic punches into the air, making everyone in the room smile.

”So?” Ryoma says as he drops onto the sofa. ”What’s so important?”

Nakahara places the envelope on the coffee table. ”We just received letter from the WBO. They’re ordering us to begin negotiations with Miguel Cabello’s camp immediately.”

Ryoma picks it up, tears it open, unfolds the letter, and then scans the page for few seconds.

”What? They’re giving us until June seventh for negotiation?”

Nakahara nods. ”The Ramirez case is creating problems for everyone. WBO wants this title fight settled as quickly as possible before the whole situation damages their credibility any further.”

Ryoma drops the letter on the table. ”So... how much capital do we have now?”

”The Yoyogi event generated a net profit of 15.6 million dollars,” Kurogane begins. ”Once Doyle’s share is settled, Ronin Fight Management retained approximately 10.6 million.”

Ryoma begins calculating in his head. ”So now... there’s roughly 12.83 million dollars in the capital. That’s plenty. We can host it ourselves. Hell, let’s rent Tokyo Dome.”

Nakahara stares at him for several long seconds before letting out an incredulous laugh. ”You make renting Tokyo Dome sound like booking a karaoke room.”

”Why?” Ryoma shoots back. ”You think twelve million isn’t enough?”

Kurogane slowly shakes his head. ”You’re looking at every dollar we have as if it exists only for your title fight.”

Ryoma opens his mouth to argue, but Kurogane continues before he gets the chance.

”Just an advice, five million needs to stay untouched, for reserve fund. Two million goes into expansion and operating expenses. That leaves approximately 5.8 million available.”

Ryoma blinks. ”You’re only letting me spend 5.8? That won’t be enough.”

”This company isn’t just about you anymore,” Kurogane says. ”People depend on us now. Employees, fighters... We can’t keep thinking one event at a time.”

”Kenta and Ryohei need their own event,” Nakahara adds.

”And now Aramaki is a champion too,” Kurogane says. ”We can feature him on your undercard, but Kenta and Ryohei will fight on a different event. And we can’t keep gambling that one successful show will bankroll the next.”

Ryoma leans back, clearly dissatisfied. ”So even that 5.8 million has to be divided.”

”For a regional event with Kenta as the headliner,” Kurogane explains, ”we’ll need at least one million dollars just to stage the event.”

Ryoma slowly rubs his chin. ”That means less than four million. It won’t be enough. Ramirez may be under arrest, but I have a feeling it’ll end up in a purse bid. No way we can win the hosting rights.”

”And yet,” Nakahara says dryly, ”you still want Tokyo Dome.”

Before either of them can respond, Kurogane’s phone suddenly rings.

”Excuse me.”

He answers the call, listening silently for several moments before the relaxed expression on his face gradually disappears.

Then he ends the call and turns to Ryoma. ”We’ve got a visitor. Logan Rhodes. He is waiting in your office now.”