VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Nikolai’s expression turns serious as he watches Ryoma intently, his eyes fixed on every movement.

But this time, Ryoma does not use the sway. He simply tilts his stance enough to align his shoulder and glove with Nikolai’s line of vision.

Then, when the angle is aligned, he simply slides his lead foot slightly forward and…

Dsh!

The jab snaps into Nikolai’s face.

His head jerks slightly backward, and he immediately steps away.

”What the hell... I couldn’t even see it.”

”Just his glove... suddenly hitting my face.”

Ryoma begins cutting the distance with his pendulum steps, mixing in feints with his shoulders, gloves, and upper-body level changes.

Still confused by what he has been seeing, Nikolai reacts to every feint.

And every time their geometry aligns…

Dsh!

A phantom jab lands.

”Ooh! He caught him clean!”

”And that’s two in a row!”

Again, when his line of sight falls perfectly in line with Ryoma’s shoulder and glove…

Dsh!

Another phantom jab.

And again.

Dsh!

Again.

Dsh!

And again.

Dsh!

”OHH! Another one!”

”What is going on here? Jab after jab, and Nikolai still can’t read it!”

”Ryoma isn’t doing anything particularly special, but Nikolai just can’t seem to see the punch coming!”

There is no ghost step, no fancy punching technique.

Dsh!

To everyone watching, it is just a normal jab.

Dsh!

But to Nikolai, the glove seems to teleport.

Dsh!

One moment it is there, and the next it suddenly fills his vision and smashes into his face…

Dsh!

Without him ever seeing the arm move.

Dsh!

”I don’t know what kind of magic trick this is, but listen to what Ryoma said earlier.”

”He said he was going to show Nikolai how it’s done!”

”Is he actually teaching him how to throw that jab properly?”

”Are we really watching the world champion teach a world-class challenger how to throw a jab?”

”At this stage of his career? Seriously?”

Eventually, Nikolai gives up trying to figure out the strange punch and becomes pragmatic, bringing his guard up in front of his face.

Since it is still just an ordinary jab, not particularly fast or powerful, Ryoma has no trouble maneuvering around it.

As the jab lands on his guard, Ryoma demonstrates the two-beat flicker, veering his left hand wide and clipping Nikolai’s face from the outside.

Dug. Dsh!

Nikolai’s head jerks to the side, his thoughts momentarily scrambled as his vision blurs.

And while his head remains exposed, Ryoma drives a crushing right cross straight into his face.

BAAAM!!!

”Good sequence from Ryoma!”

”That last punch was absolutely brutal!”

Nikolai’s head snaps violently backward, thrown far behind his shoulders before his body follows a split second later. His vision flashes completely white as his body topples backward onto the canvas.

”DOWN HE GOES!”

”AGAIN! RYOMA PUTS THE CHALLENGER ON THE CANVAS!”

”TWO ROUNDS! TWO DOWNS!”

The arena erupts into deafening cheers, but the noise gradually fades into confused murmurs. Once again, Ryoma makes no move toward the neutral corner.

Meanwhile, Nikolai remains on the canvas, both knees and both gloves pressed against it. His breathing comes hard through his mouth as he stares down at the canvas, unable to bring himself to look at Ryoma.

He had entered the arena as the undefeated prodigy, carrying twenty-three victories and a reputation built on his extraordinary ability to take what his opponents had and make it his own.

Now, after only two rounds, that same fighter has been reduced to an utterly pathetic figure on the canvas.

”Come on, kid,” he says, gesturing with his glove. ”You want to take my place as the Cruel King of this ring? Then get up. Show me how much cruelty you’ve got.”

The referee points firmly toward the neutral corner. ”Ryoma! That’s a knockdown. Neutral corner. Now!”

Ryoma does not move. ”I don’t give a damn if it’s a knockdown. This is my ring. I’m still the king here. And I’m not moving.”

The referee steps closer, his expression hardening. ”Ryoma, this is your warning. Get to the neutral corner now. If you keep refusing my instructions, I’ll have no choice but to deduct a point.”

By then, Nikolai is already back on his feet. His face is battered, blood running from his nose, the arrogance he carried into the ring almost completely gone. Yet his gloves are still raised.

The referee turns toward him.

”You good to go?”

”I’m fine,” Nikolai answers weakly, his gaze cold.

The referee hesitates for a moment, then finally steps back.

”Box!”

Ryoma settles back into his relaxed orthodox stance, his left glove slightly forward and his right tucked beneath his chin.

”That’s better, kid. Come here. Let me show you how to do that phantom jab properly.”

Whatever is going through Nikolai’s mind, he actually lowers his guard again, apparently still determined to figure out and steal the strange jab.

Ryoma suddenly performs a quick ghost step, but this time, without throwing the jab.

Nikolai immediately raises his guard in anticipation, and Ryoma simply drives a hard body shot straight into his stomach.

BUGHH!

Nikolai’s legs buckle, and he collapses back onto the canvas.

”Down!” the referee calls.

And Ryoma gestures with his glove again.

”Get up, kid! We are not done yet!”

The referee finally loses his patience.

”Enough!”

He turns toward the officials at ringside and signals with one hand.

”Ryoma Takeda. One-point deduction.”

A stunned murmur spreads through the commentary booth.

”Whoa! Ryoma has just been docked a point!”

”He simply refused to obey the referee!”

Yet Ryoma shows no reaction to the penalty. And Nikolai gets back to his feet as well, raising his gloves again despite his battered face.

In the blue corner, Victor looks furious, his jaw clenched as he watches his fighter reduced to such a pathetic and humiliating state.

His hand closes around the towel. He could throw it now. After two knockdowns, with Nikolai already badly beaten, stopping the fight would be the safest decision. But there are only twenty seconds left in the round. Victor knows what throwing the towel would mean.

Stopping the fight this early, in only the second round, would be a humiliation Nikolai would have to carry for the rest of his career. With the bell so close, Victor cannot bring himself to make that decision.

”Just twenty seconds,” he mutters. ”Get through the round, Nikolai. Get back to me, first.”

The fight resumes, and Nikolai remains stubbornly determined to uncover the secret behind Ryoma’s jab.

He tries moving his upper body and head, searching for the punch from different angles, but he still cannot figure it out.

Whenever the geometry is slightly off, Ryoma simply throws that normal jab, and Nikolai sees it coming easily enough to avoid it. And to Nikolai, he’s just dodging an ordinary jab.

But whenever the geometry falls perfectly into place…

Dsh!

The glove suddenly finds his face again.

”How...?”

Again

Dsh!

”How does he do it?”

And again.

Dsh!

”Someone, please tell me...”

Dsh!

”What is he doing right now?”

Dsh!

A strange mix of admiration and discomfort settles over the commentary booth.

”Man... this is getting hard to watch.”

”Ryoma keeps landing that jab!”

”And Nikolai just keeps taking it!”

The steady stream of jabs gradually drives Nikolai all the way toward the same corner where Victor watches with an increasingly desperate expression.

Eventually…

”Damn it!”

With only eight seconds remain, Victor eventually throws the towel.

Ryoma pulls back his next jab, his expression cold, a faint trace of disappointment crossing his face.

Behind him, the referee waves his arms.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The arena erupts in celebration, thousands of voices roaring for the Cruel King.

Yet inside the commentary booth, the reaction is strangely subdued.

”...Well. That’s it.”

”Yeah. I honestly don’t know what to say.”

They fall silent for a moment, still processing what they have just witnessed.

”Think about what Nikolai Dragunov came here claiming he was going to do. Twenty-three fights, twenty-three wins. The undefeated prodigy. Nikolai the Sharingan. The Copy Boxer.”

”He didn’t just want Ryoma’s title. He came here dressed like the Cruel King, thinking about stealing Ryoma’s identity before taking his world championship.”

”And now? He didn’t even make it through two rounds.”

”After all that talk about becoming the next Cruel King... he couldn’t even survive the real king’s cruelty.”

Meanwhile, Victor and the rest of Nikolai’s team climb into the ring to attend to their fighter. And Ryoma remains where he is, staring down at Nikolai with a bored expression.

”Nikolai the Sharingan?” he scoffs. ”Such a grand name for a man who could not even endure two rounds before the king.”