VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

As the break comes to an end, Ryoma’s breathing has at least steadied again, but he immediately feels the difference when he rises from his stool, his legs noticeably heavier than before. Across the ring, he sees Cabello already bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, waiting for the bell with an eager smile.

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”Yeah... and I need to find another way to deal with his pressure from here on.”

When the bell for the eighth round rings, Ryoma draws a deep breath and leaves his corner with measured steps.

”Here we go! Round eight is underway, and after everything we’ve just seen, the question is whether Ryoma can finally break the champion!”

”Cabello has been under tremendous pressure, but if he can…”

”WAIT… WHAT?!”

Cabello suddenly explodes from his corner, charging straight toward Ryoma with startling aggression.

”Where did that come from?!”

”That’s not the Cabello we’ve been watching! He’s charging straight at Ryoma!”

Ryoma isn’t startled at all. He calmly steps to the side, preserving his space before settling into his swaying pendulum steps.

Cabello comes forward behind a relentless storm of punches, throwing in volume rather than waiting for clean openings. Jab after jab, hook after hook, he keeps Ryoma occupied, forcing him to slip, weave, and retreat instead of setting his own offense.

Ryoma’s defense remains sharp. He keeps his distance with swaying pendulum steps, circling while occasionally firing quick jabs to interrupt Cabello’s advance.

He slips and parries whenever punches come through, but Cabello simply keeps pouring on the volume, refusing to let the pressure slow down.

”Cabello’s pace is relentless! He’s keeping everything tight, never giving Ryoma a clean moment to fire back!”

”Exactly! Ryoma is defending beautifully, but Cabello’s volume is suffocating him. He can’t even find enough space to launch his own offense!”

The sheer volume gradually begins to overwhelm even Ryoma’s defensive movement. One step becomes another, then another, until there is no longer enough space behind him.

His back reaches the ropes, and Ryoma swiftly shifts into his defensive Philly Shell stance.

Only then, with Ryoma’s space severely restricted and his offense reduced to reactive counters, does Cabello begin calculating how to structure his attacks.

Cabello fires several measured straight punches, never overextending his posture.

Ryoma parries with his right, then slips and rolls, letting his lead shoulder absorb and deflect the punch before leaning toward the ropes, deliberately inviting Cabello to commit.

Cabello takes the bait, but already anticipates the counter. He steps in, fires a right toward the head, and immediately retracts it.

Ryoma coils for his own counter, but also cancels midway, stepping forward and shoving Cabello away with his lead shoulder.

”Look at that! Neither man is giving the other a clean counter!”

”They’re both reading the setup now! Every punch is being thrown with the next response already in mind!”

Cabello gives a small, arrogant nod, as if acknowledging what he has just learned.

”Oh... I see.”

His lips curl into a faint smile.

”Then I’ll just smash that shell apart.”

He steps in with a jab toward Ryoma’s jaw.

As Ryoma parries it with his right glove…

Dp!

Cabello immediately chains it into a rapid series of body hooks: left, right, left, right, right, right.

Ryoma rolls with them, but he can’t evade everything. Punch after punch crashes into his right forearm and lead guard, while two hooks dig underneath his armpit.

Dugh. Dugh. Dugh.

Dugh! Dugh! THUD! Dugh! THUD!

The moment Cabello gives him an opening, Ryoma fires a flicker jab.

As Cabello blocks, Ryoma uses his left hand to briefly control Cabello’s position, slipping out toward his left side and escaping the ropes.

”Beautiful! Ryoma finally creates the space he needs!”

”That was slick! He uses the jab not to hurt Cabello, but to control him long enough to escape!”

Cabello turns toward him with a grin, shaking his head as he clicks his tongue as he watches Ryoma swaying with his lazy pendulum steps.

”How long are you gonna keep running, kid? Sooner or later, those legs of yours are gonna start complaining.”

Ryoma’s face remains flat, but his mind immediately reassesses his options. He can still dance, but the weight in his legs is already there.

If he keeps relying on his footwork to survive Cabello’s pressure, forcing the legs to carry him through every exchange in constant high pace, he won’t last much longer.

From the red corner, Rivera suddenly shouts, impatient with Cabello’s pace.

”Oi, Cabello! What are you waiting for?! Don’t give him time to breathe!”

Clicking his tongue, Cabello finally moves. But before he can close the distance, Ryoma suddenly changes his rhythm.

Instead of maintaining his pendulum step, Ryoma slightly widens his base, lowers his posture, and begins swaying his upper body from side to side, his legs relaxed beneath him.

Cabello recognizes it immediately. It’s the Cuban Boxing he takes the most pride in.

”So you think you can beat me at my own game?”

”Fine. Let’s see how good you are with that style when I’m the one applying the pressure.”

Cabello sends a one-two toward Ryoma’s head without being bothered by the swaying posture.

The punches miss, but he remains disciplined, quickly retracting his hands without breaking his stance, waiting for Ryoma to change the angle first.

”You’re not going to fool me at my own game.”

Ryoma slips out to his left, and Cabello follows with a long left hook, trying to catch him before he can escape.

”You lack the sugar in your movement.”

But Ryoma never tries to imitate the style with feeling. He still uses his brain, turning the exit itself into a trap.

He lets Cabello’s left hook reach his head, then swiftly twists his head to the left while swinging his own right at the same time.

DSH!

Cabello’s glove clips Ryoma’s right cheek, however…

DHUACK!

Ryoma’s right hook crashes diagonally upward into Cabello’s jaw.

”OH! WHAT A TRADE!”

”Ryoma just baited Cabello into that exchange! He took the shot just to land his own!”

For a beat, Cabello’s legs reel from the impact.

Ignoring the pain, Ryoma slides his lead foot and swings a left hook.

Cabello quickly brings his guard up, but the punch still slips through and smashes into his face.

DSH!

”ANOTHER CLEAN SHOT!”

”Ryoma is finding him again and again!”

Cabello staggers a step and resets his stance. Annoyed by what Ryoma did to him, he then quickly returns to his Cuban Boxing dance.

”Come on, kid. Let’s settle this…”

He rocks his head and upper body from side to side, this time keeping his guard high near his chin. Then he suddenly makes a bold feint, sliding his lead foot diagonally deeper toward Ryoma’s right side.

But this time, the decoy lacks its usual smoothness. The flair is gone. The rhythm is forced. None of his old gimmicks carry the same deception anymore.

Ryoma reads it before Cabello can complete the movement and fires a short, vicious hook straight toward his face.

For a split second, it looks as if Cabello has run directly into the punch, and…

DHUACK!!!

A collective gasp tears through the Tokyo Dome, all fifty thousand voices drawing in breath at once.

”IT LANDS!!!”

”WHAT IS HE DOING?!”

”HE JUST RAN HIS OWN FACE STRAIGHT INTO RYOMA’S GLOVE!”

Cabello’s body jolts violently from the impact before his legs give out beneath him.

The moment Ryoma pulls his hand, Cabello drops down onto the canvas.

”HE’S DOWN!”

”IT’S ANOTHER KNOCKDOWN!”

”JUST WHEN WE THOUGHT THE CHAMPION HAD FOUND A WAY BACK INTO THIS FIGHT, HE’S ON THE CANVAS AGAIN!”

”RYOMA TAKEDA HAS TURNED EVERYTHING AROUND ON HIM!”