VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The following morning, as scheduled, Ryoma is summoned to court as a witness. When his name is called, he walks toward the stand under the attention of everyone inside the courtroom.

Before taking his place, Ryoma’s eyes briefly shift toward Ramirez sitting across the room. His gaze carries nothing but hatred. And Ramirez doesn’t even hide his own contempt.

The prosecutor approaches the stand first, offering a polite bow before beginning his questions.

”Takeda-san. Before we discuss the incident itself, I want to ask you something. After winning the OPBF title, what was your goal as a professional boxer?”

”To become a world champion,” Ryoma answers.

”And after winning OPBF title, did your path toward a world title opportunity proceed normally?”

”No.”

”Why not?”

”Because things kept happening.”

”Can you explain what you mean by that?”

”Opportunities disappeared. Negotiations stopped. Fights that were supposed to happen suddenly fell apart. Every time I got closer to moving forward, something interfered.”

The prosecutor nods slightly. ”Regardless of who was responsible at the time, did those events affect your career?”

”Yes.”

”How?”

”I stopped being able to focus only on boxing. I had to worry about things outside the ring. My training. My safety. The people around me. Everything became a factor.”

The prosecutor continues calmly, guiding him through the events that followed his rise as an OPBF champion, the obstacles he faced afterward, and how those circumstances affected his career, his preparation, and his personal life.

It eventually leads to the moment when Ryoma was forced to risk fifteen million dollars of his own money back in London simply to secure his safety.

Ryoma is not standing there to determine Ramirez’s guilt. His role is to explain the consequences of Ramirez’s actions from the perspective of the person who suffered them, not only in his personal life, but also in his career and the business surrounding it.

Throughout the trial, Ramirez’s defense has maintained that his involvement was limited to an attempt to cause injury, denying any connection to the more serious accusations surrounding the Manila incident.

The prosecution, however, has focused on the severity of the damage caused, arguing that regardless of whether Ramirez’s original plan succeeded, his actions created serious consequences that could not simply be dismissed as a minor offense.

While the examination continues, Ramirez remains completely oblivious to the exchange taking place in Japanese, unable to understand even a single word being spoken around him. It’s been like this since his first trial in this country.

Frustrated, he leans toward his attorney. ”Can’t you at least briefly tell me what they’re talking about?”

The attorney quietly leans toward him, explaining in English what is being said across the courtroom.

”They’re changing the court’s perspective. This is no longer a simple injury case. They’re turning it into a case about the destruction of a professional athlete’s career, the manipulation of a sporting environment, and the abuse of influence within the boxing industry. They’re making the court see you as someone who used money, power, and connections to control another person’s future.”

Ramirez’s jaw tightens, a flicker of frustration crossing his face as the situation begins slipping beyond his control.

***

While Ramirez and his attorney exchange hushed words across the courtroom, the prosecution’s examination has quietly reached its final stretch.

”Takeda-san... despite everything that has happened, are you still pursuing your career as a professional boxer?”

”Yes.”

The prosecutor lets the answer settle before asking one final question.

”Despite knowing your life may still be in danger?”

Ryoma knows exactly what the prosecutor is trying to achieve. So rather than forcing an answer, he allows the question to linger.

His eyes instinctively drift toward Ramirez before stopping halfway, as though even the briefest glance has become something his body now hesitates to make. His fingers quietly tighten around the edge of the stand, only to loosen again a heartbeat later.

It is a reaction so subtle, so naturally timed, that no one inside the courtroom questions its authenticity. And that silence it all the prosecutor needs.

He doesn’t wait for long and slowly closes his folder.

”No further questions, Your Honor.”

Across the courtroom, Ramirez’s attorney clicks his tongue before leaning toward his client.

”Damn... someone, give him an Oscar,” he whispers.

Ramirez furrows his brow. ”What now?”

”That hesitation.” The attorney lets out a quiet scoff. ”He’s making it look like he’s still living with the trauma. But come on... a boxer like him doesn’t scare that easily.”

His eyes briefly drift toward the bench behind them before returning to Ramirez. ”The problem is, nobody else sees it that way. Right now, everyone in this courtroom is convinced your actions left him living in constant fear since the Manila incident.”

”But they can’t prove Manila,” Ramirez mutters.

The attorney gives a slight nod. ”Exactly. That’s why they won’t be able to pursue life imprisonment. But after what they’ve just done... getting you out on probation is going to be much harder.”

Ramirez’s expression hardens. ”Then what do we do now?”

Before the attorney can answer, the prosecutor rises once more.

”Your Honor, the evidence presented throughout these proceedings demonstrates a deliberate and sustained course of conduct that severely disrupted the victim’s professional career, compromised his personal safety, and caused substantial financial and psychological harm.”

”The consequences were not limited to the ring. The defendant’s actions forced the victim to make extraordinary decisions regarding his career, including assuming a fifteen-million-dollar financial risk that would never have existed under ordinary circumstances.”

”The prosecution therefore requests a custodial sentence of ten years’ imprisonment.”

Ramirez’s attorney quietly leans toward his client. ”And now they’re laying the groundwork for a civil lawsuit once the criminal trial is over.”

Ramirez stares at him. ”You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The attorney gives a resigned shrug before rising from his seat. ”Your Honor. In light of the prosecution’s latest submission, the defense respectfully requests a brief recess to consult with my client.”

***

The judge grants the defense a brief recess. Within minutes, Ramirez and his attorney are escorted into a private consultation room beside the courtroom.

The attorney wastes no time. He lays the case file on the table and speaks before Ramirez has the chance to vent his frustration.

”We need to stop this before it turns into something even bigger,” the attorney says.

Ramirez lets out a dry laugh. ”Bigger? They already want ten years.”

”And they’re making sure it doesn’t end there,” the attorney adds. ”They’ve spent the entire afternoon establishing how your actions changed his career, forced him into financial risks, and affected his life. That record won’t disappear after the criminal trial.”

”So what?”

”So once this is over, Ryoma can come after you in civil court. If that happens, you’ll be fighting another lawsuit for years.”

Ramirez clicks his tongue. ”Let him.”

The attorney slowly shakes his head. ”You’re forgetting where you are. This is Japan. The most effective way to end this is through Jidan.”

”Jidan?” Ramirez repeats.

”You compensate the victim, resolve the dispute personally, and show genuine remorse. Combined with a formal Dogeza, it gives the court a legitimate reason to reduce your sentence.”

Ramirez stares at him in disbelief. ”Dogeza? You want me to bow to that bastard?”

”Yes. Kneel before him, put your head on the floor if you have to. And offer thirty million dollars in compensation.”

”The hell are you talking about?”

”I’m talking about saving what’s left of your future. If you refuse, the criminal case continues exactly as it is, and afterward you may still have to defend yourself in a civil lawsuit. But if you settle now with Jidan and Dogeza, there’s a good chance both end here.”

Ramirez falls silent, looking down on the floor in desperate face. The attorney’s proposal disgusts him more than he wants to admit. He imagines himself dropping to his knees before the one man he hates most in the world, pressing his forehead against the floor while every camera inside the courtroom captures the moment.

By tomorrow, the image would be everywhere. The once-feared promoter reduced to begging for forgiveness in front of Ryoma. As if that humiliation alone weren’t enough, he would still have to hand over thirty million dollars to the very man whose career he had spent years trying to destroy.

Yet another thought follows. If he refuses, the prosecution will continue pushing for ten years in prison, and afterward, a civil lawsuit could drain whatever fortune he has left.

By the time he walks free, the boxing world may have already moved on without him. Even if the desire for revenge still burns inside him, he cannot be certain he will still have the money, influence, or power to act on it.

Ramirez finally looks up before asking, ”You really think I can get probation?”

”I wouldn’t promise that,” the attorney replies honestly. ”But I do believe this gives us a realistic chance of reducing the prosecution’s ten-year request. Without Jidan, you’re looking at something close to that. With it... I believe we can bring it down to five years. If the court responds favorably, perhaps even two. And more importantly, there’ll be no civil lawsuit afterward. This ends everything in one stroke.”