VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Even the commentators’ voices are caught and registered somewhere inside Ryoma’s head. His head turns slightly toward the sound, but the instant Umemoto lowers his guard to attack, his attention snaps back toward him.

Ryoma perceives everything. The movement of Umemoto’s shoulders, the noise rolling through the arena, scattered shouts from the crowd, the referee’s position, even the punch already closing in on his face.

He perceives all of it. He simply cannot decide what to do with any of it.

His head and eyes make small, restless movements, shifting back and forth as though some circuit inside his brain has suddenly malfunctioned.

”Why is he still just standing there?”

”That punch is coming right at him!”

Nakahara and the rest of Ryoma’s team watch with their faces filled with concern.

But Ryoma has performed too many miracles. So even in this moment, they still believe he will somehow do something at the very last moment.

But unfortunately…

BAM!!!

A heavy hook slams into the side of Ryoma’s head, the impact so violent that he crashes immediately onto the canvas.

The arena erupts instantly, thousands of voices exploding into one deafening roar.

”RYOMA IS DOWN!”

”WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!”

Sera and Hiroshi stare toward the ring with the same stunned expression, while Kurogane remains frozen beside them, his mouth slightly open and his eyes locked on the canvas.

Nakahara’s face goes completely blank, his eyes fixed on Ryoma as though his brain has simply refused to accept what he is seeing.

”What the…? What’s going on here?”

Nakahara suddenly lunges toward the canvas, pounding both fists against it in a burst of extreme panic.

”Ryoma! Get up!”

”Come on! Get up, Ryoma!”

”Wake up! Get back on your feet!”

But not a single word reaches him. Ryoma does not even register the punch itself, let alone feel the impact or the pain that should have followed it.

His eyes are open, staring at the canvas as he lies on his side, but Ryoma is completely trapped inside the darkness of his own mind.

”Where am I?”

”What happened to me?”

”I was fighting Umemoto, and…”

”No… this can’t be.”

”Am I blacked out now?”

”Shit, I need to wake up!”

”I can’t lose here.”

As if the knockdown itself were not strange enough, Ryoma suddenly gets back to his feet.

He rises with such unnatural ease that he almost looks like a machine someone has just switched back on.

The commentators fall silent for a beat, staring at him in disbelief, while the entire arena erupts into a confused roar.

”He’s up!”

”Ryoma Takeda just gets back to his feet like there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him!”

”And somehow, that makes this whole situation even more unsettling!”

There is no stumble, no attempt to regain his balance, not even the slightest sign that he has just been dropped by a punch that should have left him sprawled on the canvas.

”Is he alright?”

”I think so, but how the hell is that possible?”

”Exactly! That punch was huge! You could see how hard it landed… how he simply collapsed… and now he’s just back on his feet?”

The referee, who has only just started raising his hand for the count, freezes with his arm still hanging in midair, blinking at Ryoma as though the rules have suddenly developed a clause nobody bothered to tell him about.

Even Umemoto stops before reaching the neutral corner. When he turns around, an unfamiliar pressure suddenly weighs on him, making his body instinctively tense.

Ryoma’s face carries an unhinged, almost psychotic expression. His eyes burn with wild intensity. The corners of his mouth slowly curl into a grin that spreads across his face.

He slowly tilts his head to one side, looking almost delighted by the pain.

”At last…”

Then he looks at Umemoto, his grin widening.

”Now let me show you how this is supposed to end.”

The referee immediately steps toward Ryoma, raising one hand between them as he begins checking his condition.

”Ryoma, look at me. Are you alright?”

Ryoma looks directly at him, then slowly wipes the small smear of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his glove.

”I’ve never felt better.”

Ryoma’s grin widens, stretching unnaturally across his face, exposing his gumshield in a cruel, almost delighted smile that makes the expression look completely wrong on him.

The referee stares at him for a moment, visibly uncomfortable. He swallows hard, takes a cautious step backward, then raises his hand.

”Box!”

Umemoto immediately moves in, determined to end the fight before Ryoma can recover. But Ryoma simply stands there with both arms hanging straight at his sides.

”Ryoma! Stop playing around and put your guard up!” Nakahara’s voice cuts through the noise, desperation rising with every word. ”Guard, Ryoma! Put your hands up!”

What happens next leaves the entire arena stunned.

Umemoto launches a vicious combination, each punch sharp and brutally fast, his entire body leaning forward as he puts his full weight behind every shot.

But without raising his hands, Ryoma simply slips outside the first punch, ducks beneath the second, rolls away from the third, shifts his head past the fourth, and bends his body just enough to let the fifth pass harmlessly beside his face.

Umemoto keeps attacking, but every punch misses by the smallest possible margin. Ryoma moves without hesitation, without wasted motion, slipping, ducking, and weaving through the entire combination with effortless precision.

The crowd erupts into a roar, thousands of spectators reacting to every near miss as Umemoto’s punches tear through the air just inches from Ryoma’s head and body.

”He’s not even raising his guard! How is Ryoma avoiding all of those?!”

”Look at that! Another one just missed by a hair!”

”He’s slipping everything! Umemoto is throwing with everything he has, and Ryoma is still making every punch miss!”

”This is insane! He’s moving through the combination as if he already knows where every punch is going!”

One of the commentators even lets out a short, incredulous laugh, his voice carrying a strange mixture of disbelief and amusement.

”Watching this, I almost feel like we’re watching Jiren trying to catch Goku in that Ultra Instinct state.”

The other commentator gives a stunned laugh of his own.

”Don’t say that! You’re going to make people start seeing it!”

Most of the audience easily catches the comparison, but the joke does little to lighten the atmosphere. The spectators remain completely absorbed by what is happening inside the ring.

Because unlike Goku with his UI, Ryoma’s grin never leaves his face during the exchange. His eyes calmly follow every punch slicing through the air with the serene fascination of someone standing at the edge of a cliff, quietly savoring the danger below.

He even starts commenting on each punch he slips, his grin never fading.

”Yeah… he’s such a monster.”

Slip.

”That sound… beautiful.”

Another cross cuts through the air, and Ryoma pulls his head back just enough for the glove to stop half an inch from his nose.

”Look at that. One little mistake, and that punch would have taken my head off.”

A hook swings toward his head.

Ryoma ducks beneath it and swings a body blow into Umemoto’s midsection.

BUGH!

He simply walks backward with the loose, swaggering gait of a drunk man.

His grin widens as he watches Umemoto’s expression remain cold despite the punch.

”He really is resilient.”

Then he tilts his head slightly, still smiling.

”And you thought being soft on him was going to stop this?”

Umemoto hears every word clearly. He keeps his eyes on Ryoma, but a faint crease forms between his brows as the strange tone begins to register.

There is something deeply unsettling about the way Ryoma speaks. He is not taunting Umemoto, nor does he sound like he is addressing him directly.

It sounds more like Ryoma is having a conversation with someone only he can hear, calmly commenting on everything happening in front of him.

And judging from that expression alone, Umemoto recognizes something he has seen before. He has studied every available video of Ryoma’s fights, and the face standing in front of him now brings back the image of the Ryoma who dismantled Jade McConnel and sent the OPBF champion into retirement.

Because this is not Ryoma anymore.

This is the beast that has always resided within him.

The real Cruel King, the persona Ryoma had merely borrowed for himself over the past few years.