VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

After watching the same thing for more than an hour, Aki and Reika finally give up and decide to head home. For a reporter who came looking for a story, and a girl hoping to build a romance, Ryoma’s complete indifference makes for a rather disappointing day.

Ryoma, on the other hand, barely changes what he is doing. He keeps throwing the same simple jab for hours, although there is far more to it than anyone watching can see.

In front of him, the Phantom Mode projects a floating head of Ryoma himself, complete with his sharp, watchful eyes, silently serving as the target for every jab.

Somehow, everyone else gets sick of watching him before Ryoma himself gets sick of throwing the same jab for hours.

”Oh, come on…” Okabe finally looks away, rubbing his face. ”Someone, please tell him to stop. I can’t fucking watch this anymore.”

Aramaki chuckles, looking just as exhausted. ”Why don’t you stop him yourself?”

”You do it,” Okabe snaps. ”Just looking at him for another two seconds is already making me sick.”

”You should learn a little from his dedication,” Kenta says. ”If you had even half of that, maybe you’d be a champion like the rest of us.”

Okabe goes quiet. His expression hardens as he slowly turns toward Kenta, clearly offended. Somehow, the fact that he is the only one among them who has never been a champion makes Kenta’s little piece of advice sting far more than it probably should.

”What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Okabe snaps. ”I’ve been working my ass off too.”

Kenta shrugs. ”I’m sure you have. I just didn’t realize working hard and becoming champion were two different achievements.”

***

By late afternoon, the same reporters who had been present at Nikolai’s sparring have finally surrounded the Ronin Fight Management building, demanding a few words from the world champion. Unfortunately for them, Ryoma seems to have no interest in giving them anything.

They keep calling toward the entrance, where Hayakawa and one of the newly recruited trainers are holding them back from getting inside.

”Can you please ask Ryoma to come out for a moment?”

”Just a few questions!”

”We won’t keep him long!”

The young trainer raises both hands, trying to calm the crowd. ”Please, everyone. Ryoma doesn’t want to do any interviews today.”

That earns an immediate wave of complaints.

”Just give us five minutes!”

”We came all the way from Olympus!”

”Yeah, and we have some important intel that could be useful to you!”

The newly recruited trainer glances at Hayakawa.

Hayakawa steps forward. ”You can tell me. I’ll pass it on to him.”

A reporter stares at him in disbelief. ”The hell? Can’t you just let us in?”

Another reporter rubs his hands together. ”It’s fucking cold out here.”

”Then go home,” Hayakawa says coldly. ”After all, if Ryoma sees you not wearing a mask like this, he’s going to snap.”

The reporters glare at him, clearly annoyed and less than pleased with the answer. Eventually, the cold starts winning the argument, forcing most of them to leave.

Not all of them actually go home, though. A small handful cross the street and settle into a coffee shop, waiting for their chance to catch Ryoma when he finally comes out.

And sure enough, about an hour later, they spot Ryoma behind the glass doors. Immediately, they scramble out of the coffee shop and rush across the street.

The glass doors finally open, and three figures step outside together: Ryoma, Aramaki, and Hayakawa, all three bundled up in thick winter jackets with masks covering their faces.

The reporters already star shouting at Ryoma before they reach him.

”Ryoma!”

”Champ, please! Just a few minutes!”

”We need to ask you about Nikolai!”

”We found something interesting during his sparring session!”

”There are things you should know about what he did today!”

Hayakawa immediately moves to Ryoma’s right, putting himself between him and the reporters, while Aramaki steps forward with an apologetic smile.

”Sorry, guys,” Aramaki says. ”Not today. Maybe another…”

One of the reporters suddenly shoves Aramaki aside. He leans forward with his mouth hanging open as he speaks, his voice loud and impatient.

”Come on! We’ve been waiting here for hours! And we are going this for you.”

Ryoma turns toward him. Seeing the man’s mouth and the saliva spraying out as he speaks, Ryoma’s expression changes instantly.

”Back off!!!” he scolds, pointing at the man’s face. ”Look at your nose! It’s fucking red from the cold, and you’re standing this close to me without a mask on!”

The reporter blinks, utterly puzzled with Ryoma’s reaction. And Ryoma keeps staring at the man in disbelief, eyes wide and maddening.

The reporter blinks, staring at Ryoma as though he has completely lost track of the conversation.

”You trying to fucking kill me?” Ryoma scoffs with disdain.

For a moment, nobody says anything. The reporters exchange uncomfortable looks.

This isn’t the Ryoma they were expecting. The champion who used to treat them so nicely, like they were close friends, is now barking at them as though they are beneath him. As though just getting too close to him is now some kind of offense.

None of them says it aloud, but the disappointment is obvious on their faces. And beneath it sits something a little more bitter. They are beginning to dislike this new Ryoma.

Hayakawa immediately escorts Ryoma toward his new car, a black Toyota Alphard Executive Lounge S, a luxurious family-type vehicle he has only recently purchased at the beginning of the year.

The reporters watch in silence as Hayakawa opens the rear door for him. For someone who has spent years walking home from training in nothing but a training jacket, the sight is jarring enough on its own.

But it isn’t just the car that catches their attention. It’s Ryoma himself. The way he now keeps his distance. The way he snaps at them. The way he barely bothers to acknowledge them anymore.

A few reporters exchange looks before one of them turns away with a bitter scoff.

”Guess being rich changes people.”

Another snorts. ”He gets a little money and suddenly we’re not good enough to stand near him.”

A third reporter watches the Alphard disappear around the corner before shaking his head with disappointment.

”He’s really enjoying being the World Champion, isn’t he?”

***

Since the beginning of 2019, Ryoma can hardly be said to be living his old humble life anymore.

The money from his championship purse, the enormous profits from his growing work as a promoter, and the major sponsorship deals that keep coming in have made his savings far too large to simply sit untouched in the bank.

Even after pouring considerably more money into his gym and Ronin Fight Management than ever before, there is still far more left in his account than he knows what to do with.

His mother, Fumiko, still runs the same small barbershop as before. But they no longer live in the modest apartment they once called home.

After picking up Fumiko from the barbershop, along with Kaori and Nanako, the black Alphard leaves the familiar streets behind and continues toward the Tama Hills in southwest Tokyo.

Hayakawa, sitting in the front passenger seat, speaks to Ryoma without turning around.

”Did you really have to be that harsh?”

Tajima Tsuneo, the man driving the car and one of the bodyguards assigned specifically to protect Fumiko, turns to Hayakawa with a curious expression.

”Why, Hayakawa-san? Is there a problem?”

Hayakawa lets out a sigh. ”Our champ yelled at a reporter so harshly, the poor guy looked like he’d just been held at gunpoint.”

Fumiko chuckles lightly from the back seat. ”Oh, wonderful. So this is what becoming World Champion does to my son. He finally gets rich and immediately starts barking at people.”

”He deserved it for not respecting people’s boundaries,” Ryoma says coldly, keeping his eyes on the road. ”Damn, I can still smell that kōshū smell on my jacket.”

”Kōshū smell?” little Nanako repeats. ”Ryoma... what’s a kōshū smell? Let me smell it.”

The little girl leans closer, but Ryoma immediately panics and pulls her away.

”Don’t get anywhere near it, Nanako,” he says, quickly taking off the jacket. ”Kōshū is the kind of smell that carries viruses through the air. Once it gets into your lungs, it can stay there for years.”

Nanako’s eyes widen.

”Years?”

”Years.”

Ryoma rolls down the window and throws the jacket out.

”That’s why you never smell strangers’ kōshū.”

The others glance at Ryoma with weary expressions. They have heard his virus warnings so many times by now that even the ridiculous ones barely get a reaction anymore.

No one speaks again as the Alphard continues through the quiet roads. Eventually, it enters a mansion estate so wide that even from the main gate to the front courtyard, the car needs nearly two minutes of slow driving before the mansion finally comes into view.

This is their new castle, beautiful, secluded, and perhaps a little too heavily guarded against the dangers Ryoma believes are coming.