VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma, meanwhile, feels threatened by Ryohei’s open defiance. If he allows him to keep doing whatever he wants in front of everyone, this will no longer be just another ugly sparring session.

People will gradually stop respecting him, and once a leader loses that respect, the entire system holding everything together begins to crumble. After everything he has sacrificed to build Ronin into what it is today, he refuses to let that happen.

His condition changes nothing. Excuses carry no value inside the ring, and nobody standing around it has any obligation to understand those excuses.

”Alright… let’s shut this motherfucker’s mouth for good.”

When the bell for the second round rings, Ryoma leaves the corner with gloves stay low on both sides.

His legs are still heavy, something he can’t change. So he tries to loosen the entire body himself, not forcing them doing anything they couldn’t do.

He settles near the center of the ring with his back slightly hunched and his stance a little wider than usual.

His left glove floats lazily below chest level, while his right hangs near his hip, abandoning the textbook stance everyone in the gym has grown used to.

Ryohei smirks the moment he sees that exhausted stance.

”Too tired to even keep your guard up?”

”Good.”

He wastes no time stepping forward, flicking out a probing left before sliding in behind another left.

Ryoma leans his upper body just enough to let the first jab skim past, then casually brushes the second aside with his right glove.

Ryohei immediately drives a straight right down the middle. But Ryoma is already gone, drifting a small step outside the line of attack, moving no farther than necessary.

The angle changes just enough to interrupt Ryohei’s rhythm, forcing him to retract his right hand and rebuild his stance.

Still within range, Ryoma simply watches.

”Come… attack me more.”

Ryohei plants his lead foot again, adjusts his hips, and fires another pair of jabs.

Once more, Ryoma slips the first with a slight turn of his shoulders, softly parries the second, and quietly steps outside before the follow-up can come.

He remains close enough to touch, close enough for Ryohei to punch, yet never where Ryohei wants him to be.

Frustrated, Ryohei commits a little deeper, driving a straight right as he steps in. Ryoma simply tilts into a bladed stance, until his body is almost side-on.

Turning his head, the punch slices through the air just inches from his face.

Zrrrf!

Ryohei immediately whips a left hook.

Ryoma ducks beneath it without ever squaring up again, remaining side-on as he slips underneath the arc.

To Ryohei, it looks as though Ryoma is about to continue drifting that same way. So he bites immediately, shooting a straight right toward the space Ryoma appears ready to occupy.

Instead, Ryoma quietly draws his lead foot back. From his own perspective, it is nothing more than a short retreat. From Ryohei’s, however, the geometry is entirely different.

And suddenly…

Thud!

A loose lead hook taps into Ryohei’s ribs.

By the time Ryohei finishes extending the right punch, Ryoma is already standing near his right shoulder, almost behind his back.

He never truly moves away. He simply circles around Ryohei while staying within punching range, always close enough to be hit, yet somehow always from the wrong angle.

Ryohei quickly resets and presses forward again, only to find himself repeating the same pattern. No matter how aggressively he attacks, he can never build beyond the second punch before Ryoma quietly slips outside the next line of attack, forcing him to reset all over again.

The strangest part is that Ryoma never looks particularly quick. His footwork remains economical, his movements loose, almost sluggish from exhaustion.

Yet somehow, Ryohei still can’t lay a glove on him.

”What the hell... What is he doing now?”

***

Eventually, Ryohei eases off the pressure. He stays where he is, gloves raised, studying Ryoma instead of charging in.

Ryoma doesn’t move much either. He still looks drained, his shoulders rising and falling with every measured breath. Both gloves remain low, leaving openings that would normally be too tempting to ignore.

Then Ryohei also lowers his own lead hand and tilts his chin forward in open provocation.

”What’s wrong, kid? Why haven’t you thrown anything back?”

He even slaps his own jaw with the back of his glove.

”Quit running like a coward. Come on. Hit me.”

But Ryoma still says nothing. He merely shifts a heavy step to his left, then another to his right. Every movement looks sluggish, almost lazy.

Only his eyes never change. They remain locked on Ryohei, calm, sharp, and quietly waiting.

A faint grin slowly returns to Ryohei’s face.

”I know what you’re trying to do…”

Instead of slowing down, he surges forward once again, forcing the exchanges even harder than before.

Ryoma continues slipping outside his line of attack, but Ryohei refuses to let the combinations die, repeatedly chasing the next punch even as each forced adjustment leaves his posture a little more compromised than the last.

Around the ring, the others begin reading the same battle unfolding beneath the punches.

”Ryoma’s baiting him,” Kenta murmurs.

Aramaki gives a small nod. ”I’m sure Ryohei knows.”

Satoru frowns. ”Then why does he keep forcing it?”

”Because he’s waiting for the counter,” Aramaki answers without taking his eyes off the ring. ”He knows Ryoma’s exhausted. The moment that counter comes, he’ll force a dual exchange. He thinks he’ll win the trade.”

Soon, they begin noticing openings, moments that under ordinary circumstances would have been answered with a clean counter down the middle.

But Ryoma refuses every one of them. He remains committed to his defense, his patience, and the geometry.

Then Ryohei finally overcommits. Driving a heavy straight right, he lunges just a little too far, his balance spilling over his lead foot.

Everyone expects Ryoma to step in behind a straight counter.

Instead, he quietly steps outside, and…

Dsh!

A short check hook snaps against the right side of Ryohei’s headgear.

”Oi!” Okabe laughs. ”You spent all that effort just to get slapped?”

Irritation flashes across Ryohei’s face, but he immediately hides it behind a dismissive shake of his head.

”My mother hits harder than that.”

He keeps charging in aggressively, trying to force Ryoma into trading with him. Yet even when Ryoma finally chooses to counter…

Thud!

It’s never more than a light shot to the ribs. And the moment it lands, he’s already gone again, never giving Ryohei the chance to force the dual exchange.

Ryohei dismisses it with a shake of his head. ”Didn’t know you’d gone so weak.”

But Ryoma pays him no attention. He remains in the same slightly hunched posture, his stance still wider than usual, occasionally dipping one shoulder, then the other.

Watching from ringside, Aramaki gradually senses a strange familiarity. The way Ryoma controls the space reminds him of Rikiya Miyamoto, whose fights he has spent the past year studying.

Yet the resemblance ends there. Rikiya’s stance is disciplined, his guard rarely leaves his cheeks, and every step follows a structured rhythm. Ryoma, on the other hand, looks almost lazy, his gloves hanging low, his movements loose, as though he has little interest in fighting at all.

On the opposite side of the ring, Nakahara’s eyes gradually narrow.

”...Since when did he learn this?”

Hiroshi turns toward him. ”Learn what?”

”You don’t see any difference in him?”

Hiroshi watches the ring for several more seconds before giving a small shake of his head.

”He’s still reacting well. His defense is solid, his slips are clean, and he’s managing the distance just fine. Honestly, I’m more surprised he’s moving this well despite how exhausted he looked this morning.”

Nakahara nods once. ”Exactly. None of those things are new. What’s changed is the philosophy behind them. He’s no longer relying on speed or volume to defend himself. He’s manipulating the geometry of every exchange with the smallest movements possible, constantly changing angles without ever giving up punching range.”

Another subtle step carries Ryoma just outside Ryohei’s line of attack, forcing Ryohei to yet another reset. At one point, he even gives a lazy little shuffle, inviting Ryohei to follow only to drift out through the opposite angle a heartbeat later.

Again and again, Ryohei finds himself chasing a target that never truly leaves punching range, yet never allows him to chains his combination.

Nakahara exhales quietly. ”I wouldn’t call this Cuban boxing... but that’s unmistakably Cuban defensive geometry.”