VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Even during mitt work, Declan’s ferocity shows no sign of fading.

The moment Redmond raises the pads, Declan is on him, unleashing a sharp combination that cracks against the leather in rapid succession.

PAK! PAK!

DSH! PAK! DSH!

His punches are compact and precise.

There is no hesitation between shots, only the tight, relentless rhythm of a former world champion who has spent years refining his craft at the highest level.

”Jab, right hand!” Redmond calls. ”Step back, then come straight back in!”

Declan fires the jab, drives a straight right through the opening, then shifts his weight back just as Redmond brings a pad forward to simulate a counter.

DSH! PAK!

DSH!

He slips outside it and answers with a short left hook, followed by a right to the body.

PAK!

DSH!

”Again! Don’t admire your work!”

The pads snap together again as Declan repeats the sequence, his punches coming faster now, each combination flowing cleanly into the next.

After a few more combinations, Redmond lowers the pads.

”Look! Moriyama likes to let you work…”

He makes a brief demonstration, mimicking Kenta’s lazy pendulum rhythm before showing the subtle step-back counter.

”...then catch you with that little step-back counter when you get carried away. So hurt him early. Make him pay for every second he spends standing in front of you. Don’t let that little trick make you hesitate. He’s not the danger. You are the danger.”

Declan listens without protest. He understands the danger of a counter as well as any former world champion. At this level, no amount of experience comes without knowing the risks.

But at the very top, knowing the danger is not enough. Technique and strategy can tell a fighter how to win, but they cannot replace the ruthlessness required to impose one’s own will on another man.

In a world where every opponent is a monster, survival belongs to the one who makes the other hesitate first.

”You don’t reach the top by fearing the opponent in front of you,” Redmond says. ”You reach it by becoming something even more terrifying.”

He raises the pads again, presenting a target for Declan’s jab before shifting the other pad toward his body.

”Get inside his guard, rip the body, then bring it upstairs. Keep him busy defending himself. Don’t give him the chance to settle into his rhythm.”

Declan gives a curt nod, then explodes into another combination, his jab snapping against the first pad before a straight right and a vicious left hook crash into the next two.

PAK! PAK!

DSH! PAK! PAK! DSH! PAK!

When Redmond draws a pad back to simulate Kenta’s step-back counter, Declan keeps his balance and drives forward with a compact right to the body, finishing the sequence with a right hook upstairs without overreaching.

PAK!

PAK!!

***

Meanwhile, Kenta Moriyama is several days into his training camp at Ryoma’s luxurious mansion, where he has been staying with his coaching team.

Ryoma’s mind game may already be taking effect on Declan Byrne, but Kenta is no Ryoma. He knows nothing of the tricks involved, nor does he yet possess the same savagery as the champions who have conquered the highest levels of the sport.

And so here he is, sitting alone during a break in training, weighed down by the pressure as he watches a replay of Declan’s title fight against Rafael Vargas.

[Vargas presses forward!]

[Byrne fires back! What an exchange between these two!]

[Neither man is willing to give an inch! They’re trading bombs in the pocket, and the crowd is on its feet!]

Everyone knows how the fight ends. Vargas wins by unanimous decision, his victory bolstered by two knockdowns. Yet watching the footage, Kenta sees no one-sided beating.

At this point, Kenta is watching how Declan traps Vargas against the ropes and unleashes a series of savage combinations.

Declan ducks under a hook and drives a vicious shot into Vargas’s body, forcing the challenger down to one knee.

[Vargas is down! What a body shot from Byrne!]

[The champion has the challenger in trouble!]

It was a clash between two monsters who had dominated the WBO welterweight division for years. And this was far from their first encounter.

They had faced each other in multiple rematches, with the championship belt changing hands between them more than once.

Kenta, meanwhile, is still a far cry from the fighter he hopes to become. Not so long ago, his career was on the verge of collapse, threatening to end prematurely while he was still in his prime.

He’s a Continental champion now, sure. But a handful of consecutive wins over the past two years can only take him so far.

Watching the brutal clash between Declan Byrne and Rafael Vargas, he can’t help but feel that he’s still a long way from being ready for the savage world that awaits him at the top.

When the video ends and Vargas is announced as the winner, Kenta lets out a weary sigh. Somehow, he feels more battered than the two men who have spent twelve rounds trading blows.

”That’s quite a sight, Kenta.”

Kenta looks up to find Ryoma standing before him, holding a bottle of Surgeblue.

”Already exhausted just from watching?” Ryoma adds.

Kenta simply shakes his head, a resigned look on his face. He makes no attempt to hide how little confidence he has in his chances.

”Look, I was never sure I could win in the first place,” he says. ”Sure, I heard what you said at the bar toward Aramaki. Figured I could at least give it a shot, see what that level feels like, and use the experience to come back stronger. But, man... you went and ran your mouth in public about me fighting Vargas for the title.”

”It’s just a mind game,” Ryoma says.

Kenta furrows his brow. ”A mind game?”

”It’s aimed at your opponent,” Ryoma explains. ”So don’t let it get into your own head. Otherwise, the whole thing could backfire on you.”

Kenta remains unconvinced, his doubtful expression making it clear he isn’t buying Ryoma’s explanation.

Seeing that reaction, Ryoma lets out a brief chuckle, then takes a seat on the bench beside him.

”So...” he says, taking a gulp of Surgeblue. ”What did you learn from that video?”

Kenta falls silent for a moment, his thumb brushing across the phone screen a few times before he closes the app and locks the device.

”I tried to study his fighting style,” he begins. ”His habits, his boxing system, maybe even his fighting philosophy.”

He shakes his head. ”But all I could see was sheer brutality without any clearly defined system behind it. It’s like he knows every fighting style out there and just uses whatever suits the situation, without giving it much thought.”

”And?” Ryoma prompts.

”Somehow, he’s a bit like you. But then again, not really. I don’t know.” Kenta lets out a weary sigh. ”All I can say is that I’ve learned just how far apart our levels are.”

”Yeah.” Ryoma nods with a shrug. ”You’ve actually learned the most important lesson. That’s what happens when you spend enough time fighting monsters at the highest level. But there’s one thing you might have missed.”

Kenta turns to him, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he waits for Ryoma to continue.

”That world doesn’t just draw out the savagery within you,” Ryoma continues. ”It feeds your confidence, too. And if you let that grow unchecked, it eventually becomes pride. I’ve felt it myself. And in those two, I see more pride than most.”

”Declan and Vargas?”

Ryoma shakes his head. ”Declan and his coach.”

A sly smile creeps across his face. ”That’s why I deliberately made it public. I wanted to get under their skin.”

Kenta stares at him, momentarily speechless.

But Ryoma merely shrugs, his expression returning to its usual composure. He sets his Surgeblue on the empty bench beside him and rises to his feet.

”Come on.” He tilts his head toward the ring. ”Time to bring the beast inside you back to life.”