VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

By the time Ishimaru and Kamiya finally manage to get Umemoto into their car and pull away, the reporters have already turned their attention toward Ronin’s entrance.

They crowd the doorway, calling out for anyone willing to explain what happened inside.

”Someone from Ronin, come out and explain what happened!”

”Give us a statement! What the hell happened in there?!”

”Ronin! Open the door!”

”We want clarification! What happened between Ryoma and Umemoto?!”

”Is it true the world champion was actually watching porn in the middle of the negotiation?!”

Hayakawa, who is standing just behind the closed entrance, can hear the ridiculous accusation clearly through the door.

His face slowly twists into the expression of a man who has just realized that his morning is about to become much more stupid than he had planned.

Kurogane, of course, eventually steps outside and gives the reporters an explanation for the mysterious sounds Umemoto had apparently mistaken for pornography.

But media is still media. Whether that explanation is enough to clean Ryoma’s name is another question entirely.

Meanwhile, Ishimaru does not immediately head back to Osaka. Negotiations do not always end in a single meeting, and he has been in the business long enough to know that walking away simply because the first round goes badly is rarely useful.

Kurogane has not closed the door on the fight. The numbers may have been insulting, the meeting may have gone to hell, and Umemoto may have stormed out of the office. But the possibility of making the bout still remains.

For now, they need to eat. The long journey from Osaka, followed by half an hour inside Ryoma’s office, has not only taken a considerable bite out of Ishimaru’s pride, but has also burned plenty of calories as well.

Tsukishima Monja Okoge in Shibuya City at noon seems like a perfectly reasonable place to deal with both problems. The table is already crowded with steaming dishes, golden okonomiyaki, sizzling monjayaki, sliced pork, seafood, sauces, and small plates.

The restaurant’s warm air, sizzling iron plates, and rich aromas seem deliberately designed to encourage a healthy appetite. Unfortunately, not a single one of them seems particularly interested in eating.

Umemoto sits staring out toward the street, his chest still heaving with anger. Across from him, Ishimaru has been staring at the food for nearly ten minutes, but his mind is still turning over the conditions Kurogane put on the table.

Kamiya, meanwhile, with the other two men still refusing to touch their food, has little choice but to sit there with his hunger quietly growing.

”So...” Kamiya begins, clearing his throat once to steal their attention. ”What do we do after this? Do we go home and pretend the fight is never going to happen?”

”They haven’t completely closed the door,” Ishimaru says.

Kamiya looks up, his expression changing slightly. So does Umemoto. He has already forgotten whatever he was staring at and turns back toward Ishimaru.

”They want seven and a half million dollars,” Ishimaru continues, ”on top of the revenue shares for the gate and both domestic and international broadcasting.”

”Honestly,” Kamiya says, ”considering his current status, it’s not unreasonable for them to ask for that much. And we can afford it. I’m confident we won’t lose money. Putting him in the ring alone gives us enough earning potential to make a substantial profit.”

Umemoto’s expression hardens at that, as if anything remotely positive said about Ryoma has suddenly become forbidden territory.

”The problem is that they’re only giving us a month and a half,” Ishimaru says. ”They already have another event scheduled at Tokyo Dome in less than five months, so they have to work around that schedule.”

”I don’t care,” Umemoto immediately cuts in. ”Even if it’s next week, I’m ready. And once I beat him, we might as well ruin their whole Tokyo Dome project.”

”That’s not the fucking problem, idiot,” Ishimaru snaps. ”If we put the fight together next week, I’m the one who has to figure out how to make that much money back.”

Kamiya’s eyes drop toward the food in front of him. Whatever appetite he had left disappears completely, replaced by the familiar calculations already beginning to crowd his mind. As the manager, it is his job to figure out how to turn an investment that large into a profitable event.

”A month and a half is too short,” he says, letting out a small, forced chuckle. ”He certainly has enormous market value. But in the end, it still depends on how we sell the fight.”

Ishimaru studies him for a few moments, his face serious as he weighs the risks against the opportunity, with a little too much pride contaminating the calculation.

Somehow, it does not take him long to push the possibility of a financial loss aside and start prioritizing his reputation, his ego, and the urge to answer every insult they have received so far.

”Let’s say I accept the terms they put on the table,” he begins. ”Can you put the event together in a month and a half, Kamiya?”

Kamiya’s eyes widen in surprise. He swallows hard, watching at Ishimaru as though trying to determine whether he is actually serious.

”If we’re only talking about putting the event together, one month is enough,” he says carefully. ”Just selling the tickets alone, that’s more than enough time to fill Edion Arena. But recovering an investment that large... I’m not sure I can guarantee that.”

”Forget about making a profit,” Ishimaru says, his face darkening. ”Breaking even is enough. And even if we take a loss, as long as it isn’t too large, I don’t care. Once Umemoto takes that world title, every yen we put into this will come back to us dozens of times over.”

Kamiya considers it again, but the fear does not completely leave his face. He turns toward Umemoto, yet somehow still cannot find the confidence he needs there.

They have spent all this time moving forward on the belief that Umemoto can beat Ryoma. But even Kamiya’s own conviction has never been absolute.

He sees a real chance of Umemoto winning. He simply does not see it as a certainty. And now that uncertainty comes with a considerable financial risk attached to it.

”Can you do it, Kamiya?” Ishimaru asks again.

Kamiya lowers his gaze, then looks back at Ishimaru. He cannot exactly tell his boss that he has doubts about Umemoto’s chances now. In the end, he gives a single nod.

”If all I have to do is make sure the fight happens,” he says, ”and sell the tickets at Edion Arena, a month and a half is enough.”

”Good,” Ishimaru says, finally picking up his chopsticks. ”Now, go eat your food. We’re staying here tonight, and we’ll go back to their place tomorrow morning.”

Kamiya still looks uneasy, but eventually picks up his chopsticks as well.

Beside him, Umemoto already looks considerably more enthusiastic, attacking his meal with the appetite of a wild animal that has just been released from captivity.

”Let that fucking bastard sit in his fancy office and play with his phone,” Umemoto mutters between mouthfuls. ”Once I rip that fucking title away from him, he can crawl back into some dark little room, watch porn all night, and pretend it makes him feel like a winner again.”

For a moment, Umemoto pauses, almost caught off guard by how good the line sounds even to his own ears.

He briefly imagines himself delivering the exact same words in front of the cameras before the fight.

The thought alone seems to amuse him.

”I’m genius.”

And without saying anything else, he begins chuckling to himself before returning to his meal.