VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

After only five days of mounting pressure from the media, growing unrest among his own staff, and several athletes beginning to stop showing up at the gym, Ishimaru finally has no choice but to relent and face the reporters waiting outside.

The arrogance is gone from his face. In its place is a carefully prepared expression of exhaustion, regret, and solemn concern, as though he has genuinely spent the past three weeks carrying the weight of Umemoto’s life entirely on his shoulders.

”I want everyone to understand that I was never trying to avoid the public,” Ishimaru says. ”My only concern was Umemoto’s condition. Thankfully, for the first time since the craniotomy, he has been able to speak with us. I am deeply grateful for that.”

A reporter raises a hand. ”What about his career?”

Ishimaru lowers his gaze. ”Unfortunately, the doctors do not believe he will be able to return to professional boxing.”

Another reporter asks the question everyone has been waiting for. ”Do you believe Ryoma Takeda is responsible for what happened to Umemoto?”

For a brief moment, Ishimaru’s expression changes. The sadness that had carefully settled across his face begins to disappear as his features tighten, and the anger he has been trying to conceal starts pushing its way back to the surface.

Before he can answer, however, Aki speaks from among the reporters. ”Many people believe the safety of a fighter ultimately rests with his corner. We all saw that Umemoto could no longer protect himself, so why was the towel not thrown in?”

The reporters fall silent as Aki continues. ”Did you genuinely believe he still had a chance to survive the fight? Or was your refusal influenced by your hatred of Ryoma and your unwillingness to accept defeat?”

Ishimaru says nothing, and Aki does not give him enough time to recover before pressing the next question.

”And it has been almost three weeks. From what I heard, you still haven’t paid the champion a single cent of his contracted purse. Are you prepared for Ronin to take this matter to court?”

This time, the question forces Ishimaru to reconsider the direction of the conversation. He clears his throat once before giving a slight nod, his expression settling back into carefully controlled regret.

”You’re right. I accept responsibility for what happened,” he says. ”I never intended to withhold the champion’s purse. My attention was simply consumed by Umemoto’s condition. All this time, all I could think about was whether he would survive.”

He lowers his head slightly before continuing in the same solemn tone. ”As his second, I should have handled everything better. I can only apologize.”

Throughout the rest of the session, Ishimaru maintains the same sympathetic, considerate expression, wrapping every answer in solemn words about responsibility and concern. He plays the part of a thoughtful and remorseful man almost perfectly.

But the moment he returns to his private office, the mask disappears. Standing behind the window, Ishimaru watches the reporters gradually disperse, his face hardening as both hands tighten into fists, barely containing the anger he has been forced to suppress.

***

For the first time, several reporters finally make their way to the hospital where Umemoto is being treated, hoping to confirm the latest information for themselves.

By the same day, breaking news about Umemoto’s condition begins appearing across Japanese television networks.

”We have just received confirmation that Umemoto Kimitada has regained consciousness following his surgery. Doctors report that the former challenger is showing signs of neurological improvement, although his condition remains serious.”

”Medical staff have also stated that his return to professional boxing is considered highly unlikely at this stage.”

The following day, Ishimaru’s official statement appears across several local boxing newspapers.

At least to some journalists, the sympathetic image he presented during his press appearance is enough to soften the tone of their reporting.

Rather than portraying him as an outright villain, they carefully polish their articles around his regret, concern for Umemoto, and willingness to accept responsibility.

ISHIMARU BREAKS HIS SILENCE: ”MY PRIORITY HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE SAFETY OF MY FIGHTERS”

Shin-Osaka Boxing chief second accepts responsibility while emphasizing his commitment to protecting the athletes under his care.

UMEMOTO AWAKE, BUT BOXING CAREER LIKELY OVER

Doctors report neurological improvement as Ishimaru expresses regret over the events that left his fighter critically injured.

ISHIMARU FACES THE CONSEQUENCES: ”I SHOULD HAVE DONE BETTER”

The Shin-Osaka chief second offers a public apology while promising to cooperate with future medical and contractual proceedings.

Yet the media’s softer tone does little to calm the war of public opinion online.

Supporters from both the Western and Eastern blocs continue trading defenses, accusations, and insults.

@OsakaSteelHeart: ”Umemoto is awake. That’s what matters. Stop turning this into another excuse to worship Ryoma.”

@CruelKingArmy: ”Funny how you ignored the fact that Ishimaru admitted responsibility. Your favorite fighter nearly got himself killed and his own corner couldn’t stop it.”

@KansaiBoxingSoul: ”Ryoma fans will blame everyone except their idol. If he hadn’t fought like a psychopath, none of this would have happened.”

@RoninWatcher: ”Then explain why Umemoto’s own second refused to throw in the towel. Or are you suddenly expecting mercy from someone your precious Umemoto spent all that time calling a coward?”

@EastWindBoxing: ”Ryoma beat him. That’s boxing. You people are trying to criminalize a legal fight because you don’t like the result.”

@WestCoastFist: ”Legal doesn’t mean harmless. If you know someone can’t defend himself and keep hitting him, that’s not something to celebrate.”

@CruelKingArmy: ”Then take it up with the referee, the doctor, the commission, and Ishimaru. But somehow you only remember Ryoma’s name.”

Meanwhile, Ryoma sits alone in the private recovery room attached to his personal gym, scrolling through Twitter on his phone.

There are still plenty of people who despise him, calling him a monster and blaming him for Umemoto’s condition, yet Ryoma reads through their arguments with an unusual calmness, quietly enjoying the spectacle without letting it show.

Despite his lack of visible emotion, he finds something deeply satisfying in the spectacle, particularly as his supporters defend him while his enemies grow increasingly furious.

”You’re really enjoying this, huh?”

Then a familiar voice suddenly speaks nearby, carrying the same amused tone that Ryoma has already learned to recognize.

Ryoma pauses briefly before glancing toward Phantom Ryoma, who moves casually across the room in a relaxed handstand, his expression quietly amused.

”I’m just relieved that I finally got my money,” Ryoma says.

Phantom Ryoma lets out a quiet laugh, clearly unconvinced by the explanation Ryoma has just given him.

He smoothly lowers himself from the handstand, folds his legs beneath him, and settles into a cross-legged position directly in front of Ryoma before leaning his face closer with an expression that practically announces he already knows the answer.

”Don’t lie. I know you don’t care about the money anymore. You’re watching all of this because you care about something else. You care about public perception. You want people to keep worshipping you, and even the ones who hate you should still see you as something dangerous, something they should be afraid of.”

He studies Ryoma’s expression for a moment before continuing, his voice carrying the same quiet amusement.

”It’s only natural, isn’t it? That’s what the Cruel King wants. Praise from those who adore him, admiration from those who put you on a pedestal, and submission from those who fear you. You don’t merely want them to know your name. You want your name to mean something to them, whether they love you or hate you. As long as they cannot look away from you, the Cruel King still has his audience.”

For several moments, Ryoma simply listens, maintaining the same cold expression and unwavering gaze as Phantom Ryoma continues speaking.

Then, without warning, Ryoma cuts him off and abruptly changes the subject.

”Enough with the rambling. Now, why don’t you tell me the truth for once? Were you the one who killed Hayasida Muneyaki?”