VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma remains frozen for another moment, his eyes fixed on the man with the scar. A beat later, he finally realizes, a little too late, that several people at Erzhanov’s table have already noticed him staring.

Their conversation has stopped, and more than one pair of eyes is now quietly studying him in return.

Then a voice reaches him as though from somewhere far away.

”Ryoma...”

After that, a hand suddenly grips his arm, and this time, the voice suddenly sounds so close.

”Hey, Ryoma.”

Ryoma draws a short breath as his attention snaps back to the present. Turning slightly, he finds Sera looking at him with obvious concern.

”What’s wrong with you?”

Ryoma doesn’t answer. His gaze instinctively sweeps across the room once more, checking faces, exits, and movements before finally settling on one of the WBO staff members standing behind Kurogane.

”Mr. Takeda,” the staffer says politely. ”Please, this way. We’ve prepared your table.”

He gestures toward a reserved table near the center of the front row, directly facing the podium.

Ryoma studies it for only a second before quietly shaking his head.

”No.”

The staff member blinks. But Ryoma simply points toward his right, at the table at the corner of the room, positioned along the back row.

”I’ll sit over there.”

For a brief moment, nobody says anything.

Hayakawa is the first to move. Without questioning the decision, he walks toward the table with two members of the security team close behind.

The three of them inspect the table and the surrounding area, exchange a few quiet words, then Hayakawa finally looks back and gives Ryoma a small nod.

Only then does Ryoma lead the rest of the group across the room. Once everyone has taken their seats, the advantage of the position immediately becomes apparent. From there, they have a clear view of every table in the conference room.

Hayakawa slowly surveys the room before speaking. ”A sensible choice. We can see everyone from here, nobody can approach us from behind, and the exit is close if we need it.”

Kurogane frowns. ”Do we really need to be this cautious? You think someone would actually try something here? The media’s everywhere, and the WBO officials will be sitting right up there.”

Hayakawa gives a small shrug without taking his eyes off the room. ”Who knows? But there’s never anything wrong with making it harder for people to surprise you.”

***

Several minutes later, the conference room is nearly full. The conversations gradually die away as the WBO officials exchange a few final words among themselves before taking their seats on the raised platform.

The chairman adjusts the microphone and lets his eyes sweep across the room.

”Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your attendance. This hearing has been convened pursuant to WBO Championship Regulation to determine the promotional rights for the mandatory world championship bout between the reigning WBO Lightweight Champion, Miguel Cabello, and the mandatory challenger, Ryoma Takeda.”

The room grows noticeably quieter, though it never becomes completely silent. Around the tables, several delegates continue exchanging hushed remarks, making last-minute adjustments after seeing who has chosen to participate and gaining a clearer sense of the market they are about to enter.

The chairman pauses briefly before continuing. ”As both parties were unable to reach an agreement during the negotiation period, the organization has ordered today’s purse bid in accordance with our championship rules.”

Several assistants begin distributing printed documents to those who have not yet received them.

”The successful bidder shall obtain the exclusive promotional rights to stage the contest. In accordance with WBO regulations, the championship purse shall be divided 70% to the defending champion and 30% to the mandatory challenger.”

”The successful bidder shall schedule the championship contest no earlier than 45 days and no later than 90 days from today’s adjudication, unless otherwise extended by the WBO Championship Committee for good cause.”

”Before we proceed, I would also remind everyone that all bids submitted today are final. Once the envelopes have been opened, no revisions or withdrawals will be permitted.”

His gaze slowly moves across the room one last time. ”If there are no questions regarding the procedure… we will now begin the purse bid.”

The quiet discussions around the conference room gradually come to an end. Chairs shift softly as promoters and their representatives settle into place, each placing a sealed envelope on the table before them.

Ryoma is the only exception. From the outside, it appears as though he is still weighing his options. In reality, his attention hasn’t left Dmitri Erzhanov’s table for several minutes.

”Ryoma,” Kurogane says quietly. ”We left the hotel with two envelopes. Which one are we using?”

But there is no answer from him. Meanwhile, two WBO staff members already step down from the platform and begin collecting the envelopes, starting from the tables nearest the center aisle before separating in opposite directions to work through the room.

Then Sera lightly nudges Ryoma’s shoulder.

”Hey.”

Finally, Ryoma turns toward him, raising an eyebrow in silent acknowledgment.

”Which one?” Sera asks.

Kurogane opens the leather folder resting on the table and produces the two sealed envelopes they had prepared before leaving the hotel.

”It looks like Maria was right,” he says quietly. ”Bowman, Mendes, Vaughan... and Dmitri Erzhanov. They’re all here. So... do we follow Logan’s advice?”

He lifts both envelopes slightly. The one in his right hand is the original bid they had prepared before receiving Logan’s intelligence. The one in his left contains the revised figure, calculated from Logan’s assessment of the market now unfolding before them.

Ryoma barely looks at the two envelopes. His thoughts are no longer on the market. If his life is truly on the line, then bringing this fight to Tokyo is no longer a matter of strategy, but necessity.

Without a word, he reaches for the envelope in Kurogane’s left hand, the one with the higher bid. Just as he turns back toward the aisle, one of the WBO staff members stops beside their table.

”Mr. Takeda. Your bid, please.”

Ryoma gives a small nod and places the envelope into the man’s waiting hand. Because Ronin’s table sits at the far end of the room, his is the final envelope to be collected.

For several long seconds, nearly every pair of eyes in the conference room rests on him, as though the proceedings themselves have been waiting for Ryoma to make his decision.