VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Cabello abandons the reckless pressure at once. He knows better than to keep charging forward against a fighter who reads distance and manipulates angles this well.

Sensing the hesitation, Ryoma decides to take control. The slow swaying rhythm of his pendulum step never disappears, but its range gradually becomes smaller and tighter.

To everyone watching, he seems to be doing nothing more than rocking back and forth in the same spot. What they cannot see is that each sway steals a fraction of the distance between him and Cabello.

Bit by bit, almost imperceptibly, Ryoma drifts into punching range without ever looking like he is advancing.

When Cabello finally recognizes the danger, he shifts his rear foot outside the line of attack.

But Ryoma suddenly takes a short ghost step, and…

Dsh!

…another jab snaps against Cabello’s left cheek.

”A sharp jab from Ryoma…”

Cabello reacts instantly. Tilting his upper body to the right, he then sharply shifts his angle to the left before Ryoma can chain the combination.

Ryoma still manages to squeeze in a lead hook, catching Cabello across the stomach…

Thud!

But almost at the same instant, Cabello whips a flicking left into the right side of Ryoma’s temple.

Dsh!

Planting his feet, the champion immediately fires a straight right.

Ryoma adjusts quickly, drifting back with a smooth pendulum step as his right glove softly absorbs the cross.

The entire exchange lasted less than three seconds that the crowd only manages one short collective gasp.

”What was that?!” one commentator blurts out. ”Did anyone actually catch all of that?”

And now both fighters are already back outside punching range, standing as calmly as if nothing extraordinary has happened.

The second commentator lets out a disbelieving laugh. ”I was about to call the first jab, and somehow they were already back at range.”

”That was unbelievably fast,” says the first. ”I could only make out Ryoma’s jab and lead hook, then Cabello fired back with a sharp one-two. How many punches actually landed... I have no idea.”

Pockets of cheers continue to echo around the Tokyo Dome, but most spectators remain quietly on edge, unwilling to look away for even a second.

They anticipate another explosive exchange, but both fighters keep the exchange so polite until the bell ends the round.

Ding!

Cabello quietly turns back first toward his corner.

Ryoma lingers for a moment, watching Cabello’s back. His expression is no longer as composed as before.

>

>

”Yeah, I thought I had room for two punches.”

”Turns out... even getting the second one off is a luxury.”

***

The moment Ryoma sits on the stool, his corner team immediately gathers around him, though there is little for them to do.

”You controlled that first round well,” Nakahara says. ”Keep this pace. Stay economical, and keep making him move. Let’s drain him a little more before we take this any further.”

Ryoma responds with a small nod before taking a deep breath, settling his mind once again.

On the opposite side of the ring, Cabello’s breathing is just as steady. Despite the furious pace of the opening two minutes and the constant footwork that followed, he shows no sign of fatigue.

But the excitement that had lit up his face before the opening bell has completely gone.

”One punch,” he says. ”I worked my ass off for one damn punch.”

”I told you not to get fixated on the head,” Rivera says. ”Use your damn head. Stop treating him like he’s just another guy you can break whenever you feel like it. Go downstairs. Kill his legs first. After that... Do whatever the hell you want to him.”

Cabello only grows more irritated by Rivera’s reminder. Of course he remembers the strategy. He had just ignored it on purpose. What Rivera saw as a warning, his pride had accepted as a challenge.

Ryoma has built a reputation on leaving fights with his face almost untouched. As the world champion, Cabello wanted to shatter that reputation himself, to be the man who finally battered that pristine face.

But that first round has forced an entirely different reality onto him. Cabello slowly shakes his head in quiet denial, his brow tightening with frustration.

”Forget the head…,” he says, his eyes lowered in thought. ”Even going to the body is already a huge risk. He’s fighting with the Soviet system, but the way he manipulates angles... that’s already on the level of elite Cuban boxing.”

He lifts his eyes and fixes Rivera with a sharp stare. ”If I get careless and chase him too deep, I’m the one who’s gonna get hurt.”

Rivera lets out a scoff. ”Oh, so now you’re finally giving the kid some credit. What now? You gonna quit and book the first flight back to America?”

”Don’t make me laugh,” Cabello replies, shifting his gaze toward Ryoma across the ring. ”I’ll give him his ring IQ. The kid’s got that. But I’ve mastered every piece of boxing science there is.”

A confident grin slowly returns to his face. ”And you know damn well... what I can do goes beyond all that.”

***

Moments later, as both fighters ready for the second round, the atmosphere inside the Tokyo Dome swells once again.

The anticipation from the opening round still hangs over the crowd, but now the local fans begin turning that energy toward the champion, trying to bait him into a far more violent fight.

”How’s it feel, Champ? Why’d you suddenly get so friendly?”

”Where’d all that swagger go?”

”Quit running! If you’re gonna run, just run all the way back to America!”

”Yeah! We didn’t pay all this money to watch you run around the ring!”

Neither commentator makes much effort to hide an amused chuckle, though both quickly compose themselves.

”Well... the Tokyo Dome crowd clearly isn’t going to let Miguel Cabello forget that first round.”

”They’re trying to get under the champion’s skin. We’ll find out in a moment if it works.”

The bell for the second round finally rings.

Ding!

”Here we go! Round two is underway!”

”Neither man found much success in the opening round, but they both learned something.”

”Let’s see if the pace changes here.”

Unlike the opening round, Cabello makes no attempt to pressure aggressively. But neither does he circle the ring with his usual footwork.

Instead, he settles near the center, his stance noticeably wider than before, lowering his base. Both gloves hang surprisingly loose, resting around chest level. His chin stays untucked, leaving it unusually exposed as he stares at Ryoma from lower angle.

”...Hold on,” the first commentator says. ”Something’s different about Cabello.”

His partner narrows his eyes at the stance. ”Looks like the champion’s done playing by the textbook. Whenever Miguel Cabello starts throwing boxing discipline out the window...” He lets out a small chuckle. ”...you’d better brace yourself for something completely unpredictable.”

It exposes far more openings than before, but somehow, Ryoma senses that Cabello has become even more dangerous.

So he adjusts as well; the lazy sway of his Soviet pendulum rhythm gradually fades away until he settles into a far more conventional stance.

His posture is balanced, both feet planted flat on the canvas, his gloves resting high near his chin in a textbook guard.

Facing this version of Cabello, Ryoma knows the champion is about to fight on pure instinct, fueled by that unnatural sugar rush surging through his body.

His heartbeat picks up ever so slightly. But he immediately forces it back under control, takes a slow breath, deciding to accept the risk.

Reading the subtle sway in Cabello’s upper body, Ryoma steps in behind a jab, aiming for where the champion’s exposed head should be.

But Cabello’s head isn’t where the prediction places it.

>

The deviation is too small to matter. But for Miguel Cabello, it is big enough to give him a moment to react.

He simply shifts his head back to a neutral position, letting the jab skim harmlessly past before flicking out his own left hand.

Ryoma reacts well, catching it cleanly on his right glove.

Dp!

Then he immediately fires a straight right.

Cabello subtly switches his stance, pulling his left foot backward only slightly, his posture remaining almost squared.

With a tiny pull of his head to his right, Ryoma’s glove slices past by barely an inch.

In the very next instant, Cabello shoots his own right hand forward.

Ryoma brings up his left glove to intercept, but Cabello kills the punch halfway through.

Instead, he suddenly drives his right foot much deeper, widening his stance dramatically as he sinks low toward Ryoma’s left side.

Reading the movement, Ryoma instantly snaps a short left uppercut toward Cabello’s head.

But again, Cabello does something unexpected. His posture shows like he’s about to strike, but he actually slips diagonally over his left leg.

Finally, the champion whips a left hook toward the exposed midsection.

Ryoma sees it coming. But there isn’t enough time to recover.

”Damn... he got me.”

Left with no other choice, he braces for the impact.

BUGH!

”What an incredible exchange!”

”He walked Ryoma straight into that trap!”

Almost simultaneously, Ryoma answers with a lead hook of his own, slamming it into Cabello’s now-closer right ribs.

THUD!

”And Ryoma answers immediately! If he’s taking one, he’s making sure Cabello pays for it too!”

Cabello follows with a left uppercut from below. But Ryoma closes the distance at once, tying him up in a tight clinch. The uppercut never finds the space to come up.

The exchange comes to an end, but not the noise. The crowd keeps roaring as they witness someone actually matching Ryoma exchange for exchange.

”The champion is answering every question Ryoma is asking.”

”And that might be the biggest story of this fight so far. Ryoma Takeda has made a career out of making opponents look lost, but Cabello is refusing to take a step back!”