VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Everyone from the locker room, Kurogane, Kenta, Okabe, Aramaki, and Satoru, is already rushing toward the ring, scrambling through the ropes with ridiculous grins plastered across their faces.

”There he is!”

”RYOMA!”

”YOU ACTUALLY DID IT!”

Before Ryoma can even turn around, Kurogane throws both arms around him from behind. Kenta grabs one arm, Aramaki catches the other, while Okabe and Satoru close in from either side.

”Hey, wait...”

Ryoma barely gets the words out before his feet leave the canvas.

”Oi! What are you doing?!”

They hoist him into the air.

”WE GOT A WORLD CHAMPION!”

”PUT HIM UP!”

”COME ON, RYOMA!”

Ryoma’s body stiffens as they bounce him between their shoulders, his face twisting into pure discomfort while the others grin like idiots.

”Put me down!”

”Not yet!”

”Seriously, stop!”

For a few seconds, the five men celebrate like children who have somehow just won the biggest prize in the world.

Then their grin slowly fades as the medical team gathers around Cabello. And the atmosphere there is completely different.

”Put me down,” Ryoma says, quieter this time.

Finally, they lower him without another word. Ryoma’s shoes touch the canvas, and the five men step back as the medical team continues working.

The urgency around Cabello becomes impossible to ignore. Across the Tokyo Dome, the initial eruption of joy gradually gives way to an unsettled murmur as people begin to notice that Cabello still hasn’t moved.

The top contenders and world champions, journalists, and even commission officials around ringside begin watching the medical team with growing suspicion.

They believe Ryoma’s finishing punch itself doesn’t seem severe enough to explain Cabello’s current condition. It was clean, but not the kind of shot that should leave a champion unconscious for this long.

They are aware enough of the accumulated damage. They understand that Cabello’s body may have simply reached its limit all at once, with the final punch acting as the last knock against something that was already cracked.

The breakdown never showed any gradual effect. Yet one seemingly casual punch suddenly produces such a drastic reaction. The question now is: what had been suppressing those effects until then?

***

Eventually, Cabello is carried out of the ring on a stretcher, surrounded by the medical team as they make their way toward the aisle.

Ryoma’s supporters are forced to hold back their euphoria for the moment, watching in silence as the champion is taken away.

”I think, for all of us here tonight,” The first commentator says, lowering his voice. ”The most important thing right now is that Cabello gets the medical attention he needs and comes through this safely.”

The second commentator nods slowly. ”Absolutely. Whatever you think about Cabello, you cannot deny what he has shown us tonight. His skill, his determination, and his refusal to give in have been extraordinary.”

”He pushed himself far beyond what his body should have been capable of sustaining. Round after round, he kept finding a way to stand, to move, and to fight, even when the punishment was clearly taking its toll.”

”And that’s what makes this moment so difficult to watch. He fought until he had nothing left, and then he somehow kept going beyond that.”

As the stretcher continues down the aisle, applause begins to spread through the Tokyo Dome. Some of the local supporters who have spent the entire night booing Cabello still look at him with resentment, but even they begin joining the applause as he passes.

Vaughan and Bowman join the applause as well, though neither bothers to rise from his seat. There is no sympathy in their faces, no support, and certainly no acknowledgment of what Cabello has endured.

”Now they’re taking him to the hospital,” Vaughan says. He exhales and then leans toward Bowman. ”Which means the medical examination will be handled by the hospital staff.”

Bowman glances at him calmly for a moment, already understanding where Vaughan is going with it.

”That has nothing to do with us anymore,” he replies calmly. ”He lost. And I don’t have any interest in a loser. Whatever they find in those medical examinations, that’s between him and the commission.”

Vaughan’s eyes narrow slightly. ”And you don’t think he’s gonna drag us into this?”

Bowman gives him a blank look. ”What exactly have we done? I don’t remember doing anything.”

Before either man can say anything more, the ring announcer’s voice suddenly cuts through the lingering murmur of the Tokyo Dome, drawing everyone’s attention back toward the ring.

”Ladies and gentlemen, we now have the official result of tonight’s world championship bout!”

Vaughan and Bowman naturally turn their attention back toward the ring. That’s when they notice Ryoma’s eyes have been fixed directly on them. His expression is cold, sharp, far too focused.

For a moment, Vaughan and Bowman simply stare back at him, the noise of the arena seeming to fade into the background as their eyes meet.

Then Ryoma’s lips suddenly begin to move. He says nothing aloud, deliberately shaping every word slowly and clearly enough for them to understand.

”I know everything you just said.”

Neither Vaughan nor Bowman can actually read lips, but Ryoma’s exaggerated movements make the message clear enough.

Vaughan’s eyes narrow while Bowman’s jaw tightens slightly. Neither looks away, but the subtle change in their expressions betrays their sudden unease.

Meanwhile, the ring announcer finally raises his voice above the remaining noise in the Tokyo Dome.

”And the winner by technical knockout, at two minutes and twenty-one seconds of the eighth round, and the NEW WBO Lightweight Champion of the World… Ryoma… the Chameleon… Takedaaa!!!”

The Tokyo Dome erupts. The roar shakes through the stands, followed by waves of applause, whistles, and people shouting his name.

”LISTEN TO THIS PLACE! OVER FIFTY THOUSAND PEOPLE ARE ON THEIR FEET FOR THE NEW WORLD CHAMPION!”

”THE CHAMELEON HAS DONE IT! AFTER EVERYTHING THIS MAN HAS BEEN THROUGH, RYOMA TAKEDA HAS FINALLY CLAIMED THE WBO LIGHTWEIGHT CROWN!”

Of course, the Cruel King Army, Ryoma’s most loyal supporters, refuse to let the moment pass without making their presence known. As one, they break into the chant with rhythm carrying the unmistakable energy of a European football terrace.

But the lyrics are different now. They have prepared them specifically for this moment, as if they had already decided long before the bell that Ryoma would leave the Tokyo Dome as a world champion.

♪ Ohhh, Cruel King! Wear the crown!

Three bullets couldn’t bring you down! ♪

♪ Through the fire, through the pain!

The Chameleon rules again! ♪

♪ Cruel King!

Cruel King!

Our forever King!

Three bullets couldn’t bring you down!

Now the world belongs to you!

Our King Forevermore! ♪

With Ryoma not acknowledging their support, his attention still fixed on Vaughan and Bowman, The Cruel King Army simply keeps looping the chant in perfect unison. Eventually, the rest of the arena gradually realizes where Ryoma’s eyes are actually fixed.

A moment later, Nakahara approaches with an awkward mixture of pride and disbelief, carefully placing the world championship belt around Ryoma’s waist before giving his shoulder a firm pat.

”They’ve been singing for you for quite a while. Can’t you at least give them something?”

Ryoma finally looks away from Vaughan and Bowman. He raises one hand, and immediately, the Cruel King Army cuts the chant short, replacing it with a deafening roar that rolls across the Tokyo Dome like an army celebrating after returning from war.

RRRAAAAAAGGHH!!!!

Ryoma lowers his hand, and the roar also comes to its end. Only then does a ring girl approach Ryoma with a microphone.

”Ryoma, congratulations! You are the new WBO Lightweight World Champion. How are you feeling right now?”

”I feel tired,” Ryoma says calmly. ”But I’m satisfied. I did what I came here to do.”

The ring girl nods, then turns slightly toward the fallen champion’s corner. ”Miguel Cabello fought with everything he had tonight. He showed tremendous determination and refused to give up even when the fight seemed to be slipping away from him. What are your thoughts on him and the fight he gave you?”

Ryoma doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes drift briefly toward Elliot Graves, then Alexander Volkov, and finally Jean Pascal Roy.

Kurogane, sensing where this might be heading, quietly pinches Ryoma’s backside. Ryoma flinches slightly, clears his throat, and gives a small nod.

”Yeah. Miguel Cabello is a strong fighter,” he says. ”I’m very grateful that I was able to learn so much from this fight.”

He pauses, and his cold gaze returns to Vaughan and Bowman. This time, he doesn’t look away even as he continues.

”But honestly, I can’t have even a little respect for a fighter who isn’t honest, someone willing to break the rules because he’s afraid of losing his championship belt.”

A ripple of confusion spreads through the Tokyo Dome. Even some of the WBO officials around ringside turn toward one another with puzzled expressions.

Ryoma continues without breaking his stare. ”And I’m not talking about Hugo Ramirez, who’s already in prison. I’m talking about all the anomalies Miguel Cabello displayed throughout those eight rounds. And I’m certain I’m not the only person who noticed them. I simply expect transparency regarding those anomalies.”

The ring girl hesitates, clearly realizing that most of the audience is now wondering the same thing.

”If you don’t mind me asking... what anomalies are you referring to?”

”Ask the medical staff who examine his condition at the hospital,” Ryoma says.