VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

As Aramaki mentions the possibility of a global pandemic, Hayakawa happens to emerge from the direction of the kitchen with a large cup of coffee in one hand.

He has clearly caught the last words of the conversation. But he simply walks toward them, taking a sip from his coffee while standing there and watching the television, behaving as though the words global pandemic are no more remarkable than anything else being discussed on the screen.

Ryoma’s attention shifts toward him for a moment before returning to Aramaki. Then he raises one hand and makes a small gesture toward the remote.

”I’m going to train,” Ryoma says as he gets to his feet.

Aramaki looks up at him. ”Want me to come with you?”

”Nah, it’s okay. I already have Hayakawa-san.”

Hayakawa, who is just about to take another sip of his coffee, pauses for half a second. He only glances toward Ryoma as the champion walks away, then lowers his eyes to the cup.

After a moment, he places it in front of Aramaki.

”A global pandemic, huh?”

Aramaki looks up at him, raising an eyebrow with an unsure smile.

Hayakawa merely gives him a slight shake of the head before turning away. He then walks casually toward the corridor, following Ryoma as though that had been the plan all along.

Naturally, Ryoma does not forget about training when building his new residence. A private gym stands slightly behind the main building, connected to it by an outdoor corridor, effectively giving the champion his own secluded training compound within the estate.

It is a state-of-the-art training facility, furnished with an extensive collection of boxing equipment surpassing anything available at Ronin Boxing Gym, alongside an indoor pool, hot bath, cold bath, even sauna.

And as if all of that were not excessive enough, there is even an indoor garden devoted entirely to relaxation and meditation, a small sanctuary of greenery tucked inside what is otherwise a monument to physical punishment.

As for a fitness-specialist trainer or someone to constantly oversee his conditioning, Ryoma no longer truly needs one. The Vision Grid System has made that role almost redundant.

One command is enough, and Phantom Mode produces a projection of Ryoma himself dressed in training attire, standing before him like a personal coach.

But that is not the Phantom Ryoma he needs today. What he needs is a fighter.

”No,” Ryoma says, tightening the straps of his boxing gloves.

He briefly glances over his shoulder and notices Hayakawa has just entered the gym and taken a seat on one of the benches.

”Switch to fighter mode,” Ryoma continues quietly. ”With headgear.”

”Oh, another spar. Sure.”

The Phantom figure begins walking toward the ring. As it moves, boxing gloves gradually materialize around its hands, while a headgear forms over its head at almost the exact same moment.

”So, what are we working on today?” the Phantom asks.

”Nothing specific,” Ryoma says.

He also puts on a headgear, and then climbs through the ropes. He rolls his shoulders and begins shadowboxing, snapping a few light combinations into the air.

”Just be me,” he says. ”We are going twelve rounds.”

”Twelve?” The Phantom raises his gloves. ”That’s a full title fight. So I’m the challenger now?”

”You’re the guy I’m punching.”

”Good enough. And if I somehow take your head off, do I get the belt?”

”Just ring the bell.”

The Phantom grins behind his headgear.

”Fine. Let’s go.”

He brings his gloves together.

”Ding.”

The sparring starts, and Hayakawa’s eyes sharpen as he watches from the bench.

From where he sits, there is nothing particularly unusual about what he sees. Ryoma appears to be shadowboxing alone, moving around the ring and exchanging punches with an opponent that does not exist as far as Hayakawa is concerned.

There is, however, one small detail that makes him pay closer attention: Ryoma is wearing headgear.

This is hardly the first time Hayakawa has sat on this bench and watched one of Ryoma’s peculiar training sessions. Since the beginning of the year, he has been the one accompanying Ryoma whenever the champion trains alone like this. Ryoma never allows anyone else to watch.

It is not simply a matter of trust. Ryoma expects professionalism from Hayakawa, and Hayakawa understands exactly what that means. Whatever strange things happen inside this gym stay inside this gym.

And there have always been plenty of strange things. Things Hayakawa has learned not to ask about, even when some of them are becoming increasingly difficult to explain.

***

By the eighth round, Ryoma’s movements have noticeably slowed. He is backed against the ropes, both gloves tucked tightly into his Philly Shell as he absorbs a relentless barrage from an opponent only he can see.

Hayakawa’s eyes narrow again. ”Now he’s getting bullied, huh?”

As if this is something he has seen often enough to recognize immediately, Hayakawa rises from the bench and walks toward the ring.

A few seconds later, Ryoma’s head jerks violently to the side. His legs give way before he collapses onto the canvas.

Hayakawa’s face tightens. ”Again...?”

He quickens his pace, climbs through the ropes, and immediately kneels beside him.

”Hey, boss. You okay?”

Ryoma groans in pain and presses one glove against the side of his headgear, holding it there as though trying to ease the enormous pressure building inside his skull. His breathing is heavy, his head still bowed as he keeps the glove pressed against his temple.

Then Hayakawa notices something else. A thin line of blood begins to run from Ryoma’s nose.

”...You’re bleeding.”

”I’m fine,” Ryoma mutters.

”What do you mean, you’re fine?”

”I told you, I’m fine.”

Ryoma slowly sits up, resting one arm against the bottom rope as he tries to regulate his breathing.

Hayakawa remains beside him, his eyes fixed on the blood running from Ryoma’s nose. ”A nosebleed for no apparent reason is not something to dismiss. It can be something minor, but it can also indicate a problem with your blood pressure, blood vessels, or something more serious.”

Ryoma leans back against the ropes and takes another slow breath.

”This is normal for me.”

”Normal, you said? How often does this happen?”

Ryoma turns quiet, his jaw tightening, realizing that his answer has only made Hayakawa more concerned.

”Just… forget it. And let me rest for a bit. I’m going to be fine. Really.”

”What do you mean you’re going to be fine?” Hayakawa counters. ”If this happens often, you might need a proper medical examination. Repeated nosebleeds without an obvious cause aren’t something you ignore. I’m not taking chances. You need to see a doctor.”

He immediately grabs one of Ryoma’s arms. But as he puts that arm around his shoulder, Ryoma immediately pushes him away.

”Don’t.”

Hayakawa steadies himself and looks at him without backing down.

”I’m not asking as your friend, boss. I’m asking as the man responsible for getting you home in one piece. If something happens to you after this and I did nothing, I’m the one who has to answer for it. That’s my job. So either you let me take you to the hospital, or you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Ryoma’s gaze lingers on Hayakawa, slowly realizing that the man has seen enough of his strange behavior to suspect there is far more going on than he has ever explained.

A beat later, his gaze shifts toward Phantom Ryoma, standing right behind Hayakawa, his nostrils stained red with blood and a few specks of it across his cheek, grinning with a serious expression.

”Sucks to be you, bro... I’m just being you, and you still can’t beat me.”

Ryoma’s brows twitch with irritation. And somehow, Hayakawa realizes that Ryoma’s gaze is not actually directed at him. He immediately turns around, but there is nothing there.

For a brief moment, the hair on the back of his neck rises. Hayakawa finds himself wondering whether they are training in a haunted gym, or whether his boss simply has a serious psychiatric problem.

Hayakawa turns back toward Ryoma, his expression serious.

”What is it?”

”Nothing,” Ryoma says, looking away.

”Nothing my ass!” Hayakawa then gestures at the ring. ”You shadowbox in ways that make it look like you’re actually sparring someone. Sometimes I’ve seen you react like you’ve really been hit. And then there’s the way you occasionally whisper to yourself. I can’t hear what you’re saying, but I can still tell you’re talking to someone.”

Ryoma chuckles, then breaks into a short laugh. ”Hayakawa-san. What the hell is this? Don’t tell me you’re starting to think I’m friends with a ghost.”

”That’s not what I think,” Hayakawa says. ”I’m worried... there might be something wrong with your brain.”

”My brain?”

”I’m not sure. But I really think you need to see a doctor. A neurologist, a psychiatrist, whoever.”

”A psychiatrist?” Ryoma stares at him. ”You think I’m crazy?”

”You think I haven’t noticed?” Hayakawa says. ”You talk about a global pandemic like you’ve seen it coming. You’re excessively suspicious about viruses, and your mood swings sharply without warning. From time to time, you become almost impossible to predict.”

He pauses briefly, then continues. ”You can be stoic one moment, naive the next, then suddenly jovial and warm, only to turn cold, mean, aggressive, or strangely detached. Sometimes you’re calm and wise beyond your years, and other times you behave with a kind of reckless foolishness that makes me wonder if you’ve completely lost your mind.”

Ryoma falls silent, his expression slowly losing its defensiveness. He knows he has worn many faces before, but those were deliberate for certain purposes.

What unsettles him is that Hayakawa has only been working with him recently. Yet in that time, Ryoma cannot remember deliberately acting in any of those strange ways.

The thought makes his stomach tighten. If these shifts are happening without his control, then what else has he been doing without knowing it?