VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

While Cabello is still weighing his options, the action on the flatscreen suddenly comes to an unexpected halt as the referee waves off the fight during the break after the seventh round.

”What’s this? The referee is stopping the fight!”

”It’s over?! This one is over between rounds?!”

The broadcast immediately cuts to Moses Ndlovu’s corner, where the former WBO African Champion remains seated on his stool.

His face is badly swollen, his breathing heavy, and his body covered in punishment from seven relentless rounds. He slowly shakes his head at his corner team, making it clear he has no intention of continuing.

”Ndlovu is refusing to come out for the eighth!”

”What a performance from Kenta Moriyama! Seven rounds of complete domination force Moses Ndlovu to surrender on his stool!”

”This wasn’t just a victory. This was a statement from one of Ronin’s most experienced fighters! Just when it looked like this was going to be a disastrous night for Ronin after dropping the first two bouts... they’ve answered with back-to-back seventh-round victories!”

”First Aramaki, and now Kenta Moriyama! Ronin has completely turned this event around!”

”And what a journey this has been for Moriyama! There was a time he couldn’t even secure a professional fight back home because people believed he’d already done. Now, just months after capturing the WBO Asia Pacific title, he’s knocking on the door of the world stage!”

For a long moment, Cabello watches the flatscreen in silence before Bowman finally steals his attention.

”You need to make your decision now, Cabello.”

Cabello glances at him, then back at the medical staff member. His eyes linger on the syringe as he wrestles with his pride, his pragmatism, and the fear of making enemies out of Ramirez and the two men standing behind the supposed examination.

He looks back at Bowman. ”Let’s say I win with this. Then what? There’ll be a urine test after the fight.”

”You don’t have to worry about that,” the medical staff member replies calmly. ”I’ll be the one taking your sample.”

Suddenly another staff member appears at the still-open doorway. ”Miguel Cabello. Are you ready? We need to inspect your gloves and hand wraps before you head to the arena.”

Despite the interruption, the medical staff member shows no sign of panic. He continues holding the syringe where only his back is visible to the official at the door. He raises an eyebrow, silently waiting for Cabello’s answer.

After a long pause, Cabello finally gives in. ”Just get it over with.”

Without the slightest hesitation, the man inserts the needle into Cabello’s arm. His expression never changes. Cabello, however, visibly stiffens, while Jorge Rivera instinctively steps forward.

”Just a minute,” Rivera says to the staff member at the door. ”We’re still finishing the medical check.”

The staffer simply nods and waits by the doorway as more officials begin arriving, moving through the hallway with the quiet efficiency that always precedes a main event.

Even then, the medical staff member never breaks a sweat. He calmly secures the syringe inside his case, gives Cabello a small nod, and closes the lid.

”You’re good to go, Mr. Cabello.”

With that, he picks up his equipment case and walks out of the locker room. Vaughan and Bowman follow a few moments later.

”We’ll be rooting for you from ringside,” Vaughan says.

”I wish you good luck,” Bowman adds. ”Because I know you’re still going to need it.”

Only after they are gone does Jorge Rivera’s corner team finally enter the locker room to prepare their equipment. Rivera immediately begins wrapping Cabello’s hands with tape so the officials can inspect the hand wraps.

***

On the other side of the arena, Kenta and the rest of Ronin’s corner team have just returned to their locker room. They now stand motionless near the doorway, watching Ryoma continue his warm-up alone.

His medical examination has long been completed. His hands are already wrapped, his gloves fitted and approved by the officials, leaving nothing left to do before the main event except wait for the call to the ring.

With Nakahara serving as Kenta’s chief second earlier, Ryoma has gone through the entire warm-up by himself. One crisp combination after another cuts through the air as he works the mitts with Phantom Ryoma.

Jab.

Right cross.

Slip.

Left hook.

Roll under.

A short right to the body.

Everything is so tight and fast. Ryoma pivots sharply to his left, resets his feet, then fires another crisp combination without the slightest hesitation.

Slip.

Slip again.

A compact uppercut.

A sharp cross.

He rolls beneath another incoming strike, immediately answering with a left hook and a straight right before taking a half step back into perfect balance.

Not a single movement is wasted. Not a single punch is thrown harder than necessary. Every defensive reaction flows seamlessly into the next attack, each transition so sharp that it almost feels mechanical.

”Ryoma Takeda! Please get ready!”

A staffer’s voice echoes through the locker room, but nobody pays it any attention. Every pair of eyes remains fixed on Ryoma, completely absorbed by the rhythm of his shadow boxing.

Then, without warning, Ryoma’s final punch falls short, leaving him slightly off balance. It is not because he has made a mistake, but because Phantom Ryoma has stepped away.

”That’s enough,” Phantom Ryoma says. ”We both know you still can’t keep a clear mind inside the Zone.”

Ryoma gives a small nod before settling back into a relaxed stance, and the phantom Ryoma disappears from his sight.

”You done, kid?” Nakahara asks.

Ryoma answers with another quiet nod without turning toward him. Right after that, Kurogane takes the robe and crown prepared for Ryoma’s entrance from the equipment bag.

But before he can put the robe over Ryoma’s shoulders, Nakahara quietly stops him.

”Kurogane. Don’t. Just leave them.”

Kurogane hesitates for a moment before quietly putting both the robe and the crown back into the bag.

As Ryoma settles into silence, the rest of Ronin’s corner team immediately shifts into motion. Fresh buckets, towels, water bottles, and cut supplies are brought forward and checked one last time, while Nakahara quietly goes over the final details before the walk to the ring.

Once everything is in place, Ryoma is the first to head toward the doorway.

As he passes Kenta, Kenta instinctively opens his mouth, intending to offer a few words of encouragement. But the moment Ryoma draws close, something about the atmosphere surrounding him makes the words die in his throat. Without realizing it, Kenta simply steps aside and lets him pass.

Only after Ryoma leaves the locker room together with Nakahara and the rest of the corner team does the atmosphere finally loosen again.

”Damn... he’s so intense,” Kenta mutters to himself.

”You’ve only been here a few minutes,” Kurogane says with a faint smirk. ”We’ve been dealing with that pressure ever since you entered the second round.”

”He was already convinced you’d win,” Okabe adds. ”As soon as you entered the third round, he already asked the officials to inspect his gloves and hand wraps. Then he started shadow boxing... and suddenly… the whole room just changed.”

Aramaki scratches the back of his head, sounding almost uncertain as he quietly adds, ”If only I had that kind of intensity... that kind of concentration... I feel like I could beat anyone.”

***

The moment Ryoma steps onto the aisle, an entire section of the arena erupts. More than five thousand members of the Cruel King Army rise to their feet as one, their voices blending into a chant that rolls across the arena with the force of a European football ultras’ anthem, only this one is sang in Japanese.

♪ Ohhh, Cruel King! Rule our ring!

Rule forever, make us sing! ♪

♪ Three bullets couldn’t bring you down!

Now go and take another crown! ♪

♪ Cruel King!

Cruel King!

Our forever King!

Three bullets couldn’t bring you down!

Now go and take another crown! ♪

The rest of the arena quickly turns its attention toward them. Many spectators who have never witnessed anything like this before, including countless overseas fans, can only watch in amazement before reaching for their phones to record the moment, while others simply stand there, smiling as they soak in the atmosphere.

For today, however, none of it reaches Ryoma. He is already at the edge of the Zone, carefully maintaining that fragile state of mind, making sure he neither drifts away from it nor slips completely into it before the fight has even begun.

”There’s... something different about Ryoma Takeda today,” the first commentator says.

His partner lets out a puzzled laugh. ”What do you mean? He’s always like this before a fight.”

”Yes,” the first commentator replies, still watching Ryoma’s expressionless walk toward the ring. ”But not like this.”

”Naah… this is just his persona. And Ryoma Takeda has shown us countless different personas throughout his career. That’s why people call him The Chameleon.”

”But today feels different. Today is a historic day, and I have a feeling that, for the very first time... The Chameleon is about to show us his true colors.”

Ryoma steps through the ropes and walks straight to the blue corner. He simply stands there in complete stillness, offering no shadow boxing, no stretches, not even the slightest adjustment to his posture.

Behind the entrance curtain, however, Miguel Cabello looks like a completely different man. He bounces effortlessly on the balls of his feet, firing explosive combinations into the air before weaving sharply beneath imaginary counters.

His body overflows with an energy that almost seems impossible to contain. Even Jorge Rivera, who has spent years in Cabello’s corner, has never seen him this lively before.

”Is he coming to fight or filming a movie?” Cabello says, licking his lips with manic grin. ”Come on, brat. Don’t keep your champion waiting.”