VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Nakahara falls silent for a moment. Hearing Ryoma speak that way, it almost sounds as though he is already thinking about how to end the fight as quickly as possible.

Perhaps it is simply the impatience and recklessness that have always surfaced when Ryoma senses an opportunity.

But then, strangely enough, Ryoma turns back toward him and asks for instructions.

”So, what’s next?”

Nakahara blinks, looking slightly caught off guard. ”What’s next, you ask? Kid, for a moment there, I thought you were already deciding how you wanted to end this.”

”No.” Ryoma shakes his head. ”I’m still not completely confident in my ability to control the weight of my thoughts right now. So please, don’t ask me to think. And, Coach, I’m not joking. I’m genuinely scared of what might happen if my mind suddenly becomes chaotic in the middle of a fight.”

”Alright, alright,” Nakahara says. ”Next round, I’ll give you a little more freedom. If Umemoto really is as strong as you say, don’t waste your time trying to break him down everywhere. Pick targets that can shut his body down. You know what I mean?”

”Shake the brain?”

Nakahara nods. ”Shake the brain. Hit the diaphragm. Go to the liver. Pick your moments and be precise. But don’t stay in the pocket longer than you need to.”

Nakahara’s expression softens, a trace of concern appearing in his eyes as he looks at Ryoma.

”Remember, you’re only two months removed from the Nikolai fight. You were too reckless back then, forcing exchanges when you didn’t need to. Since becoming world champion, you’ve been pushing your body through an insane schedule. I trust your ability, but I want you protecting yourself too. Don’t treat it like it’s indestructible.”

Ryoma simply gives him a solemn nod, a small, serene smile appearing on his face. Nakahara’s expression shifts, softened by a sudden wave of nostalgia.

That look in Ryoma’s face, it’s the look Nakahara has not seen in a very long time. If he thinks back, the last time he remembers seeing that expression was when Ryoma first walked into his humble gym.

”Ryoma…? You?”

Ryoma blinks. ”What?”

Nakahara smiles, and shakes his head. ”Nothing.”

***

When the official orders the corners cleared, Nakahara climbs down from the apron, but his attention returns to Ryoma’s face.

He still does not understand what is happening to him, yet something about that expression makes him feel as though he is looking at the same Ryoma he trained nearly four years ago, the young prodigy who won the High School Interhigh.

”I don’t know what that psychiatrist did to him,” he mutters, almost to himself. ”But somehow, it looks like she managed to get rid of that strange Cruel King character in him.”

His words immediately draw the attention of Hiroshi, Sera, and Kurogane, all three turning toward him.

Sera shrugs. ”Now that you mention it, yeah… he does look so different tonight. And honestly, I think I prefer him like this.”

Kurogane gives a small nod. ”Could be a sign that he’s finally matured.”

Hiroshi, however, looks slightly uncertain. ”I don’t know. I just feel like Ryoma has gone back to the way he was when he first joined our gym.”

”So you noticed it too,” Nakahara says.

Kurogane and Sera, the two Ronin figures who had joined the team much later, immediately turn toward Hiroshi with puzzled expressions.

”You’re serious?” Sera asks.

”He used to be like that?” Kurogane asks.

Meanwhile, the bell for the next round rings, and Ryoma leaves his corner, circling the perimeter with light, effortless footwork. Somehow, the movement reminds Nakahara and Hiroshi of the youngster Ryoma, that smooth style with resemblance to Muhammad Ali.

Across from him, Umemoto keeps his gloves tight around his face, cutting across the ring whenever Ryoma changes direction. He is no longer consciously following Ishimaru’s instructions; his body has simply decided that this is the safest way to fight Ryoma.

Ryoma continues circling, occasionally flicking out a light jab as Umemoto advances behind his high guard. He does not throw with much commitment, simply touching the guard before drifting away along the perimeter.

Perhaps Nakahara’s concern has stayed with him. If he has been told to take better care of his body, then this style may be the most suitable for him right now.

”Ryoma back then was incredibly naive,” Hiroshi says. ”He was jovial, always cheerful, always making jokes just to lighten people’s moods. And he never did it by putting someone else down. He was sensitive, almost gentle. Everything about him had that innocent quality you see in a toddler.”

Hiroshi rubs his cheek with an uncertain laugh before continuing. ”Seeing a prodigy with that kind of personality, it was hard not to fall in love with him.”

Nakahara listens without interrupting, his expression growing solemn as he watches Ryoma continue circling the ring with that effortless movement. After a few seconds, he clears his throat.

”Maybe that kind of personality makes someone a wonderful friend,” he says quietly. ”But it doesn’t make for a good boxer. I think the changes Ryoma went through are a big part of why he became this successful. Inside the ring, being naive and gentle can be a dangerous weakness.”

Kurogane lets out a small scoff, clearly amused. ”You’re talking like you’re worried he’s becoming soft again.”

Nakahara doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes remain fixed on Ryoma as another light jab touches Umemoto’s guard.

”Honestly…” He swallows. ”That’s what’s been bothering me. He’s listening too easily. Ryoma has never been this obedient before.”

Perhaps Nakahara’s instincts are picking up on something the others cannot see yet.

The Cruel King was more than just a title his die-hard fans had given him. Behind that name was something real, a voice that argued with him from somewhere deep within his own mind.

It refused to accept weakness, constantly pushing against every hesitation and demanding the most absolute answer available.

Coldness. Violence. Results.

Anything that could eliminate failure was acceptable, and anything that stood in the way could be discarded.

There was never much room for kindness in that equation, let alone compromise.

For years, Ryoma had lived with that presence arguing inside his head. Only recently he finally learned how to silence it.

And when the voices disappeared, something else began returning with them.

The old Ryoma.

The boy who could smile without calculation.

The naïve boy who laughed without an ulterior motive, and step into a ring without carrying the weight of becoming something ruthless enough to survive it.

At this moment, Ryoma’s mind is much clearer than it had been in years.

But that clarity had come with a price.

The Cruel King had taken many things from Ryoma over the years, yet it had also buried the softer parts of him beneath layers of instinct, ambition, and an almost pathological refusal to lose.

Now those layers were beginning to peel away. And beneath them was the same young prodigy Nakahara remembered from four years ago, long before the Cruel King became part of Ryoma’s identity.

Unfortunately, against a monster like Umemoto, the absence of that monster inside Ryoma’s head may prove to be a problem tonight.