VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Around nine in the morning, the black van carrying Ishimaru, Umemoto, and Kamiya is already making its way through the streets of Tokyo toward the Ronin Fight Management building.

Nothing is particularly unusual about the journey until they notice something in the distance. There is a crowd in front of the Ronin building, cameras held high, with several reporters standing along the sidewalk.

”Damn it…” Kamiya shifts slightly in his seat as he watches them. ”If they’re already here, things with Ronin could get more complicated. They can put pressure on us before we even get through the door.”

Ishimaru turns toward him, raising an eyebrow. ”That’s exactly why they’re here.”

Kamiya frowns. ”What do you mean?”

”I was the one who told them.”

Ishimaru gives a small smile, looking almost proud of himself, as though leaking his own whereabouts to the press were some stroke of military genius.

Kamiya stares at him. ”You deliberately leaked our arrival?”

”We’re not coming here to ask them for a favor,” Ishimaru says with a shrug. ”Now with reporters waiting outside, it’ll be a lot harder for Ronin to start playing games with the timing or suddenly come up with a different version of what Ryoma meant.”

As soon as the van comes to a stop, Ishimaru opens the door and steps out with the grand composure of a main villain arriving at the final dungeon, apparently expecting the assembled NPCs to gasp, scatter, and immediately begin praising his name.

His appearance immediately throws the reporters into a small frenzy. They surge toward him like zombies catching the scent of fresh meat, except these zombies carry cameras, microphones, and enough questions to strip a man of his privacy before he has taken three steps.

By the time Umemoto and Kamiya manage to catch up with Ishimaru, a barrage of questions is already being fired in their direction.

”Ishimaru-san!”

”Is it true that you came to negotiate the Ryoma Takeda–Umemoto fight?”

”Is Umemoto ready to face the world champion?”

”Did you bring a fight proposal with you?”

Ishimaru raises a hand with the lofty composure of a man who has already decided he deserves everyone’s attention, like a philanthropist arriving at a food distribution and graciously signaling the common people to stop fighting over the rice.

”Yes, we came here because of Ryoma Takeda’s statement,” he says. ”So we’re here. Let’s see how serious he was about those words.”

Someone from the back of the crowd shouts, ”What if Ryoma refuses?”

Ishimaru gives a thin smile. ”If he refuses, that’s his business. Or perhaps he’ll find another excuse to dodge us again. I suppose that would answer the question well enough.”

More questions follow, but Ishimaru has already had his fill. He heads for the building, leaving the reporters clutching enough material to turn a simple contract meeting into the arrival of a messiah.

***

Inside the building, the atmosphere changes almost immediately. Several professional fighters are already training, including Aramaki and Satoru, while three rookies work through their drills on the other side of the gym.

All of them have fights coming up the following month, and apparently three visitors from Osaka rank somewhere below that on Ronin’s list of things worth interrupting training for. The heavy bags keep swinging, the mitts keep cracking, and nobody so much as pauses to acknowledge them.

There is no special welcome. No one comes running over. And, more noticeably, there is no Ryoma.

The world champion is known for being in the gym early. Today, however, the man Ishimaru has dragged half the press to Tokyo to meet is nowhere to be seen.

”Looks like the champion himself deliberately stayed away because he knew I was coming today,” Umemoto says mockingly.

Ishimaru remains silent, merely glancing around before Nakahara approaches them.

”Finally, you came,” Nakahara greets flatly.

There is no smile, no warmth. Their cold war is hardly a secret, and Nakahara gives Ishimaru exactly the amount of attention one might expect from a man trying to conserve oxygen.

After that brief and chilly greeting, Nakahara immediately turns toward Hiroshi, who is standing nearby.

”Hiroshi, take them upstairs.”

Hiroshi nods and approaches them. Nakahara is already back with Aramaki, treating the arrival of Ishimaru and his entourage with roughly the same ceremony one might reserve for a plumbing crew that has finally shown up to fix the toilet.

Ishimaru watches him for several seconds before turning to Hiroshi.

”Your boss isn’t coming?”

Hiroshi gives him a slight smile. ”I’m sorry. He can’t. Aramaki has an important fight coming up.”

Ishimaru clicks his tongue. ”So he thinks Ryoma’s fight with Umemoto isn’t more important than some Aramaki fight? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Hiroshi says nothing. He merely gestures for them to follow him toward the stairs.

They make their way to the second floor and stop in front of Ronin’s CEO office. Hiroshi opens the door, and the sight inside gives Ishimaru yet another thing he was not expecting.

Kurogane is standing there to greet them, his smile broad, his manner warm, almost excessively so considering the history between them.

”Ah, you’ve finally made it, Ishimaru-san.”

There is something almost suspicious about how comfortable he looks, as though whatever happened between them years ago has been filed away in some drawer he has no intention of opening today.

”It’s been a long time. Please, please… Come in.”

Kurogane welcomes Ishimaru like an old acquaintance, shaking his hand and asking about his health and the trip from Osaka. Considering their history, the warmth is almost offensive in its casualness.

”How have things been in Osaka?” Kurogane asks casually. ”Still keeping you busy?”

Kamiya gives a polite laugh. ”Busy enough. The trip itself wasn’t bad, though. We made good time.”

”That’s good. I was wondering whether Tokyo traffic would punish you for coming here.”

”It nearly did,” Kamiya says. ”But we survived.”

Kamiya does most of the answering while Kurogane gestures for them to sit on the sofa around the small coffee table.

Kurogane joins them and keeps the small talk going with the relaxed manners of a host who has apparently decided that old enemies are still entitled to coffee.

What makes the atmosphere strange, however, is not Kurogane. It is Ryoma, who remains seated behind his desk, completely ignoring them.

Since the moment they entered, Ryoma’s attention has remained fixed on the smartphone in his hand. His thumb moves across the screen, occasionally stopping as he reads something before continuing again.

While Kurogane keeps trying to maintain a warm atmosphere, Ishimaru repeatedly glances toward the world champion. The arrival he had turned into an event outside, complete with cameras and reporters, apparently has no value whatsoever to the man at the center of it all.

Umemoto notices it too. His eyes settle on Ryoma for a moment, and his expression grows increasingly irritated.

Finally, he addresses Kurogane, deliberately raising his voice enough for it to carry across the office.

”I thought the world champion himself might be a little more interested when the man who came all the way from Osaka to challenge him is already sitting in his office.”

At that exact moment, a breathy woman’s moan suddenly erupts from Ryoma’s smartphone.

”Mmhhh… Nnghh…”

It’s loud enough to make the entire office wonder whether the world champion has chosen a particularly unfortunate way to ignore his guests.

Ryoma looks genuinely panicked. His eyes widen as he starts tapping and swiping at the screen, his movements suddenly much faster than they have been all morning.

Whatever is happening on the phone finally stops, leaving the office in silence once again. But by then, the damage is done. What has been heard cannot be unheard.

Umemoto stares at him. Ishimaru stares at him. Even Kurogane turns toward him with an expression that suggests the negotiations have just taken a remarkably stupid turn.