VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

For the first time that night, the atmosphere inside Ronin’s locker room is no longer suffocating. Quiet laughter slips through the room, conversations return, and shoulders that had been tense since the opening bout finally begin to relax.

”I knew Aramaki would pull it off,” Satoru says with a grin that fools absolutely no one. ”I was just... testing everyone’s mental strength.”

”You were crying after your fight,” Sera scoffs.

”I wasn’t crying.”

”You absolutely were.”

”I had sweat in my eyes.”

”Come on. You don’t sweat that much.”

”It was sweat. I clearly fought until the final round.”

”Sure. The only boxer who sweats from his eyes.”

Both Kurogane and Kenta let out an open laughter at the exchange, only for a low groan from Okabe to follow a moment later.

”Would you idiots laugh a little softer?” Okabe mutters from the treatment table. ”Every time I hear you idiots laugh, my jaw reminds me I lost.”

”That sounds like a personal problem,” Kurogane shoots back.

”Oh? You wanna fight me, manager-san? Come here, then.”

”You can’t even stand.”

”I don’t need to.”

Another ripple of laughter rolls through the room, but Ryoma remains the only one who doesn’t join in. Seated on the bench across from the wall-mounted monitor, he watches the live broadcast in silence.

Like everyone else, he is relieved by Aramaki’s victory, yet the feeling quickly gives way to the reality that the night is still far from over.

Kenta leans over and nudges Ryoma lightly with his elbow.

”Your best friend won,” he says quietly.

”I saw,” Ryoma says curtly.

Kenta studies him for a moment before frowning. ”What’s wrong? You spent more time training with him. You were the one who put together the game plan, figured out how he should approach every round... almost every minute of the fight. Everything unfolded exactly the way you wanted. Can’t you at least look a little proud?”

Ryoma widens the corners of his mouth, forcing a smile that looks so deliberate it barely resembles the real thing.

”How’s this?”

Kenta stares at him for a second before letting out a helpless sigh.

”You’re hopeless.”

Before Ryoma can answer, the locker room door swings open.

Aramaki steps inside first, his hair still damp with sweat. Coach Murakami follows close behind with the JBC title belt draped proudly over one shoulder, while Hiroshi and Nakahara enter a moment later alongside a member of the medical staff carrying a small examination case.

”There he is!” Satoru is the first to spring to his feet. ”I knew you’d do it, Aramaki-senpai!”

Even Okabe straightens from the treatment table, ignoring the protest from his battered body long enough to flash the champion a tired grin.

”Took you long enough.”

Aramaki blinks at the warm reception before lowering his head in an awkward bow.

”...Thank you very much.”

”You’re thanking us?” Satoru laughs. ”You’re the one who saved us!”

A faint smile crosses Aramaki’s face, but as quickly as it appears, he quietly makes his way toward the examination chair without another word.

”Excuse me.”

The medical staff member gestures toward the seat, and Aramaki obediently sits down, offering his arm without needing to be asked as the post-fight examination begins.

”No swelling around the orbital bones,” the physician says as he continues the examination. ”No signs of a concussion. Aside from some bruising to the body, I don’t see anything that requires immediate attention.”

The entire locker room simply stares at Aramaki in disbelief, struggling to reconcile the physician’s assessment

”You’ve got to be kidding...” Satoru mutters.

Okabe lets out a low whistle. ”Your opponent was Rikiya Miyamoto.”

Coach Murakami nods proudly. ”And yet, physically, he came through remarkably well.”

Sera shakes his head in disbelief. ”Do you remember your first fight with him? Sure, you won in the end, but everyone could see it was practically a professional beating an amateur until that lucky shot.”

”Yeah,” Okabe says, looking at Aramaki with a faint grin. ”Now look at you. Seven rounds with the same guy, and you walk back in here looking like you just finished another day at the gym.”

Aramaki lowers his eyes to the floor, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

”I... just had much better people teaching me this time.”

Kenta nudges Ryoma once more with the corner of his elbow. ”See? Imagine if you’d spent that much time preparing Satoru and Okabe. Maybe they wouldn’t have lost.”

Ryoma doesn’t even look at him. ”Oh? How was I supposed to? Every training session they spent more time talking about visiting the hospital than actually training, sounding less like professional boxers and more like planning a family picnic.”

As always, Ryoma’s words land with far more weight than he seems to intend. The lighthearted mood that had filled the locker room only moments ago disappears almost instantly.

Satoru and Okabe fall silent. Neither Kurogane nor the coaching staff says a word, while even Kenta regrets bringing it up.

Even the physician senses the sudden change in atmosphere. Clearing his throat softly, he immediately packs away his equipment

”If you’ll excuse me.”

Without waiting any longer, he slips out of the locker room, leaving the silence behind him.

For several long moments, no one in the locker room says a single word. It isn’t simply because Ryoma has criticized Satoru and Okabe. Everyone in the room knows he isn’t wrong. What makes his words so difficult to hear is everything left unsaid.

Ryohei lies in that hospital because he was stabbed protecting Ryoma. Yet after carrying him there that night, Ryoma has never returned to visit him even once.

On one hand, Ryoma’s criticism sounds completely justified, the kind of ruthless professionalism expected from the man leading Ronin. On the other, it only reinforces the cold image he has carried ever since things fell apart between him and Ryohei.

Okabe clicks his tongue as he slowly turns away, almost muttering to himself. ”Ryohei took a knife for the guy... and somehow he’s convinced that visiting him in the hospital would be the greatest sin.”

That is the only response anyone offers before the locker room falls silent once again beneath the same oppressive mood.

***

The silence lingers for what feels like an eternity before the wall-mounted monitor finally breaks it, the commentators erupting with excitement as Umemoto drives Hamakawa onto the ropes barely two minutes into the opening round.

”Umemoto has Hamakawa pinned on the ropes!” one commentator shouts. ”A stiff jab splits the guard, another jab follows, and now a crushing right hand to the body!”

”Hamakawa gets the gloves up for the left hook, but the uppercut sneaks right through! That snapped his head back!”

”He tries to pivot away… No! Umemoto cuts him off immediately! A jab, a straight right, and Hamakawa is driven straight back into the ropes!”

”What relentless pressure! Hamakawa is blocking some of those punches, but far too many are crashing through his guard!”

Without anyone realizing it, every pair of eyes in the locker room has shifted to the wall-mounted monitor, the tension surrounding Ryoma and Ryohei forgotten entirely.

Less than five months ago, Umemoto had to earn his victory over Hamakawa the hard way, surviving a fiercely contested fight against the very same opponent. Now, the gap between them has become so overwhelming that they scarcely look like rivals anymore.

”Ten seconds left in the round! And Umemoto is emptying the tank! Like he’s trying to end this fight in one round!”

”Left hook to the ribs! Right hand upstairs! Another hook curls around the guard! Hamakawa can barely stay upright!”

Aramaki lets out an awkward laugh as he scratches the back of his head.

”At this rate, people might forget I just defended my title.”

”Wait…” Okabe gulps. ”Is that really Umemoto?”

As the fight moves into the following rounds, the pattern becomes increasingly familiar. Much like Aramaki against Rikiya, it is a contest between relentless pressure and superior technique.

The difference, however, Hamakawa never enjoys the luxury or winning early rounds like Rikiya did. Umemoto simply refuses to surrender control for even a moment.

Round after round, Umemoto relentlessly hunts Hamakawa with overwhelming strength, speed, and physical pressure. His offense appears deceptively simple, yet every step is measured and every punch disciplined, leaving Hamakawa with almost no opportunity to regain the initiative.

By the closing moments of the third round, Umemoto has driven Hamakawa back into the corner once again. Even when Hamakawa commits to a desperate counter that lands flush across Umemoto’s face, Umemoto overwhelms Hamakawa in a fierce exchange, dropping him to the canvas with a crushing left hook.

”DOWN GOES HAMAKAWA!”

”WHAT A SHOT! UMEMOTO WALKED THROUGH HAMAKAWA’S BEST PUNCH AND FIRED BACK WITH A DEVASTATING LEFT HOOK!”

”Five months ago, these two fought an absolute war! Tonight, Umemoto is showing us a completely different level!”

Kenta continues staring at the monitor for several seconds, before glancing at Ryoma with a grim in his face.

”After seeing that... do you still believe Ryohei can survive against that monster?”

Kurogane also turns toward Ryoma. ”After working with Umemoto for years, I know exactly what kind of fighter he is. And that’s why I can tell you this: he has no real interest in Ryohei.”

His eyes then move briefly toward Nakahara. ”The story he built by attacking Ronin’s image wasn’t only designed to force Ryohei out of hiding. The real purpose was to draw out the person who represents Ronin more than anyone else.”

His gaze returns to Ryoma. ”The one he actually wants to fight is you.”