VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Kamiya watches him in silence, realizing that Ishimaru is no longer thinking about what is right or wrong. If he allows it to continue like this, he knows everything around them will eventually come crashing down.

”Sir, we should pay Ronin immediately. If this turns into a legal dispute, it will only become far more complicated. Remember what happened to Hugo Ramirez.”

Ishimaru snaps his attention toward him, staring in disbelief as though Kamiya has just betrayed him. ”Kamiya… you are defending them? Are you saying I’m responsible for what happened to Umemoto too?”

”Kurogane has a point,” Kamiya says. ”If you insist on placing all the blame on Ryoma, it will be very easy for him to turn every accusation back against you. It was never his responsibility to feel sympathy for an opponent in a fight of that magnitude. It was your responsibility to protect Umemoto if you genuinely believed he was no longer capable of continuing.”

”How dare you...” Ishimaru’s voice comes out as a low hiss before suddenly rising into a furious shout. ”How fucking dare you, Kamiya! I’m standing here with my entire operation falling apart, and instead of helping me, you’re taking their side?!”

His finger starts jabbing toward Kamiya like he’s conducting an orchestra in which every instrument has been replaced by an accusation.

”You! And Kurogane! You are all the same. Fucking opportunists. You’re perfectly happy standing beside me when everything is working. But the second there’s blood on the floor, suddenly you’re the reasonable one. Don’t fucking lecture me about responsibility when you weren’t the one who put everything on the line for Umemoto!”

Kamiya listens to every accusation without responding. By the time Ishimaru finishes, any remaining reason he might have had to stay is gone.

”That was only my advice,” he says calmly. ”You can accept it or disregard it, but I won’t stand by and watch you make this situation worse because your anger is clouding your judgment.”

”You...?”

Ishimaru steps toward him, his fists tightening as anger takes control of his expression.

Apparently, he has decided that the appropriate response to receiving advice is now physical violence. Without thinking, his body moves with the same impulse that once drove him to strike Kurogane in the past.

But before the clenched fist can be thrown, Kamiya already bows deeply. Ishimaru stops dead. He can only watch as Kamiya slowly straightens and turns toward the exit.

Before Kamiya reaches the door, Ishimaru’s voice cuts through the room once again.

”The moment you walk through that door, your salary for this month is gone, and every bonus you earned from the previous event is gone with it!”

But Kamiya shows no reaction. He does not slow down. His pace remains exactly the same until he disappears through the doorway.

Ishimaru’s chest heaves as his anger continues to build. Then, when he turns toward the other staff members in the room, they immediately flinch under his gaze.

”What?” he snaps. ”You want to leave too? Go ahead, then. Just don’t make the mistake of thinking I can’t replace you.”

Nobody says a word. They only exchange frightened glances, but silently reaching the same conclusion without anyone needing to say it aloud: stay until the salaries and bonuses are paid, and then resign.

***

You might imagine Kurogane is somewhere in Tokyo celebrating Ishimaru’s misery, but that would be a rather convenient assumption.

Whatever had happened between them, and however bitterly he ended his relationship with Umemoto, Kurogane still cannot forget the good years they shared at the beginning.

He was the first to recognize Umemoto’s potential, the one who offered to manage him and helped guide his career until he became Japanese Champion.

Now, with Umemoto still fighting for his life in a hospital bed, Kurogane cannot simply take pleasure in his downfall.

He is only doing his job as Ronin’s general manager, but after the call with Ishimaru, he looks exhausted, rubbing his forehead beneath the weight he has carried since that brutal night.

”How was it, Kurogane?”

Nakahara appears in the doorway, drawing Kurogane’s attention away from whatever has been weighing on his mind.

Kurogane looks up, lets out a tired sigh, and shakes his head, the gesture carrying the resignation of a man who has already exhausted his patience.

”He’s still blaming Ryoma for what happened and refusing to pay the purse.”

Nakahara’s expression tightens. ”They can’t just decide the contract doesn’t apply when they don’t like the outcome. Did you try putting some pressure on him?”

”I did, but…”

”Then take the matter to court.”

”We could, certainly. But if there’s a way to settle this without dragging it through the courts and creating even more drama, I’d rather do that. Remember, we still have Ronin’s next events to prepare for.”

Nakahara falls silent for a moment before slowly taking a seat, his eyes drifting toward the windows overlooking the gym, where his fighters are still going through their training.

This is never really about deciding who’s right or wrong. It’s about focus, workload, and all the unnecessary complications that keep piling onto their shoulders.

And then there are the reporters, who had barely given Ronin’s building a moment of peace since the fight with Umemoto.

If he had the choice, Nakahara would rather return to being a coach and nothing more, like he used to be, without having to deal with the politics and endless drama that came with managing a situation like this.

The more he thinks about it, the more he begins to understand just how much mental pressure Ryoma has been carrying all this time.

”If this keeps going, I’m going to lose my mind,” he mutters.

Kurogane glances at him before letting out a quiet chuckle and a faint scoff.

”Well, apparently, one of us is already crazy, isn’t he?”

Nakahara turns toward him, his expression slowly darkening. Kurogane never mentions Ryoma by name, but the implication is obvious enough.

”So, have you managed to talk to him?” Kurogane asks.

Nakahara slowly shakes his head. ”I went to his place yesterday, but he refused to see me. Damn, they wouldn’t even let me through the gate.”

After that, neither man says anything more. They remain absorbed in the same uneasy question, trying to make sense of what has happened to Ryoma and where, exactly, things began to go wrong.

They have worked with him for years and watched him change in ways that have sometimes been difficult to explain, even when those changes bordered on the absurd.

They thought they had seen almost every side of him by now, but this was different. For once, neither Kurogane nor Nakahara has any idea who they are dealing with anymore.

After sitting in silence for a while, Nakahara finally gets to his feet and straightens his back, rolling one shoulder as he rubs it with a weary hand.

With the exhaustion still written all over him, Nakahara reaches across the desk and picks up the keys to his van.

”I’m going home early today,” he says.

Without waiting for Kurogane to respond, he walks toward the door.

”Do whatever you want with Ishimaru. Just make sure he pays Ryoma’s purse.”

Kurogane lets out a tired sigh before getting to his feet and following Nakahara through the gym hall toward the building’s main exit.

But the moment they reach the door, they both stop. Dozens of journalists and reporters are still crowded outside, and the instant they notice Nakahara through the glass, they surge toward the entrance.

”Nakahara-san! What is Ronin’s response to Umemoto’s current condition?”

”Why hasn’t Ronin released any statement since the fight?”

”Not even a message of sympathy? Not even a word of concern for Umemoto?”

”Does Ronin accept any responsibility for what happened inside that ring?”

”Has anyone from Ronin contacted Umemoto’s family?”

”Why has nobody from Ronin offered them even a simple apology or expression of sympathy?”

”Are you refusing to comment because you’re afraid of what you might be asked?”

For a brief moment, Nakahara feels like the last man alive in a post-apocalyptic world, with an entire horde of zombies waiting outside to tear him apart.

”You can’t hide behind that glass forever!”

”Come out and answer the questions!”

”Nakahara! Don’t walk away from this!”

”Why is Ronin hiding now?”

”Give us an answer, Nakahara!”

”You had plenty to say before the fight. What happened now?”

”Come outside and explain yourself!”

The reporters’ voices overlap and clash, with each voice competing to be heard above the others. Their words sound slightly muffled through the glass doors, but the barrier does little to conceal the anger and scrutiny behind them.

”At this point, everyone’s going to need a therapist,” Nakahara mutters, his face looking resigned.

”It looks like it’s time to give them what they want,” Kurogane says with a tired smile. ”And while we’re at it, we might as well remind them that Ronin isn’t the only side that should be answering questions.”