VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The moment the sparring ends, the journalists begin closing in. And Nikolai doesn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, he looks entertained.

The young Bulgarian sits on the apron, answering the first few questions with the sort of easy politeness expected from a visiting challenger.

Then the questions gradually turn toward something much more serious.

”You’ve watched a lot of Ryoma’s fights, haven’t you?”

”A lot. It’s hard not to. Everyone here keeps talking about him.”

”Then what do you think is his biggest strength?”

Nikolai rubs his chin for a moment, looking toward the ceiling as though he is seriously considering the question.

”He’s annoying.”

The answer catches several of them off guard.

A reporter near the front raises his recorder. ”Ryoma has spent his entire career turning opponents’ strengths against them. Are you comfortable giving him that much material to work with?”

Nikolai gives him a puzzled look, then laughs softly. ”Material? Oh. You mean the things I did earlier? So you realized it, huh?”

The reporter nods. ”You deliberately reproduced several of Ryoma’s sequences today. Was that simply preparation, or were you trying to establish that his own style doesn’t belong exclusively to him?”

Nikolai rolls one shoulder, looking almost bored by the question. ”Both, I suppose. But I don’t really understand why everyone is so protective of his tricks. They’re boxing moves, aren’t they? It’s not like he invented boxing itself in the first place.”

A few uneasy laughs break out, but the irritation behind them is harder to hide.

Another reporter steps in before the laughter can settle. ”Ryoma’s opponents usually spend weeks trying to solve his rhythm. You appeared to be playing with it within the first few rounds today. How much of that was planned?”

Nikolai’s eyes narrow slightly, a knowing smile spreading across his face. ”What’s this? Did I offend you with the way I fought earlier?”

The reporter quickly shakes his head. ”Ah, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Nikolai dismisses the explanation with a small wave of his hand, his smile never leaving his face.

”If copying him for a few rounds already makes people nervous, maybe you people give him too much credit for these cheap tricks.”

The reporter gives a small nod, forcing a polite smile that looks painfully rehearsed.

The other journalists do much the same, exchanging awkward glances as they search for another question sharp enough to push back against Nikolai, but nothing comes.

They have already seen what the young challenger can do. And the thought begins settling uneasily among them: this foreign kid might actually embarrass them and their champion on their own turf.

Meanwhile, Aki, arguably Ryoma’s most devoted fan in the entire room, is already heading for the exit, her cheeks slightly puffed and brows knitted into an adorably furious little frown.

”How dare he…? How dare he…”

She mutters the words under her breath as she walks, still visibly fuming.

Aki’s too annoyed, too genuinely pissed off to trust herself with a microphone right now. If she stayed and asked Nikolai a question, there was a very real chance that whatever came out of her mouth would have little to do with journalism and a lot to do with personal indignation.

For now, she has only one thing in mind: get to Ryoma and tell him everything. And if the story needs a little extra seasoning along the way, she might as well add some extra pepper to it.

***

By the time Aki reaches the Ronin Fight Management building, she’s already rehearsing exactly how she’s going to tell Ryoma everything.

But just as she approaches the entrance, a familiar black Lexus parked along the curb catches her eye, the very same Lexus belonging to Reika, who had been far too busy to accompany her to Setagaya this morning.

Aki’s brows immediately knit together, her already sour expression turning into an adorably indignant frown.

”...Seriously?”

She steps inside and finds Hayakawa, Ryoma’s personal bodyguard, sitting on a bench not far from the entrance.

”Hayakawa-san, where’s Reika?” she asks curtly, as though Hayakawa has somehow become personally responsible for her morning.

Hayakawa’s expression tightens as he suppresses a laugh, then he simply points ahead. Aki follows his gesture and immediately spots Reika standing a short distance away.

Once their eyes meet, Reika’s face carries the faintest hint of guilt, while Aki’s cheeks puff out again. She marches toward her with the same stiff little steps, looking like she has just found another piece of evidence against her.

”There you are.”

Reika barely has time to react before Aki stops in front of her, still visibly sulking.

”You said you were busy, but you came here anyway. You just wanted to see Ryoma by yourself, didn’t you?”

Her sulking catches the attention of Aramaki and Okabe, who have been working nearby. Both men pause and look over.

”Aki? What’s with that face?”

”Yeah, you’re usually a lot more cheerful when you come here.”

Aki’s head snaps toward them. ”You wouldn’t be cheerful either if your friend lied to you!”

Reika exhales quietly behind her. ”I didn’t lie.”

”You absolutely did.”

Before the argument can grow any further, Aki’s attention is pulled toward Ryoma a few paces away.

He is shadow-boxing in front of one of the large mirrors along the wall, throwing a steady stream of jabs without much apparent urgency.

Jab.

A small step.

Jab.

Another adjustment of his feet.

Another jab.

He doesn’t look particularly invested in the session. There is no sharp burst of combinations, no frantic movement, nothing that resembles the kind of preparation Aki would expect from someone with a title fight less than a month away.

”Ryoma, you know what happened today?” Aki speaks again.

Okabe looks over, and Aramaki raises an eyebrow. But Ryoma doesn’t even look at her way.

And Aki simply launches into the story. ”I went to Setagaya this morning, and that Bulgarian kid was sparring Akagi. You should’ve seen him. He was copying your movements like it’s a joke!”

Aramaki lets out a low whistle. ”That’s pretty bold.”

”He even used that ghost step and the phantom jab!” Aki adds. ”And then he started copying Akagi too. Everything. The feints, the head movement, even the way Akagi got annoyed! He was practically making fun of everyone!”

Okabe’s expression changes. ”Wait. He copied Ryoma’s stuff?”

”Exactly!” Aki says, pointing emphatically toward the ring. ”He did exactly what Ryoma did to Miguel Cabello.”

The mood around them changes almost immediately. Okabe and Aramaki stop looking amused, their expressions turning noticeably more serious. Even Kenta, has just come out of the locker room, slows to a stop.

A few of the younger boxers nearby do the same, followed by Sera and Hiroshi. One by one, they abandon whatever they were doing and turn toward Aki.

Unfortunately, the one person Aki had hoped to rile up with the story doesn’t react at all. Ryoma simply keeps shadow-boxing, his strange little routine eventually drawing Aki’s attention away from everything else and leaving her more confused than angry.

Well, Ryoma doing weird things during training is hardly unusual around this gym. But this one is different.

He keeps throwing the same punch.

Jab. Jab. Jab.

That’s it.

Every punch looks simple and perfectly ordinary.

What worries Aki even more is something she knows for certain. Ryoma hasn’t sparred once since the beginning of the year.

She knows because she has been here almost every day with Reika, sitting around the gym during Ryoma’s active training sessions and watching what he does.

There hasn’t been a single session she missed. And for all those days, this is what she has kept seeing.

Ryoma shadow-boxing.

Jab after jab.

No combinations. No elaborate footwork. No fancy tricks

And with the title fight getting closer, that doesn’t feel normal anymore.