VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 392: Authority Without Consent

Chapter 392: Authority Without Consent

Ryoma goes back upstairs and slips into his father’s suit. The fabric sits heavier than his graduation one, the shoulders broader, the cut older but dignified. It smells faintly of cedar and time. He buttons it slowly, as if the motion itself demands respect.

Then his phone chimes.

Ding.

Ryoma checks it; a text message from Reika.

[Just get prepared, quick. You still have time. I can pick you up.]

Ryoma exhales and types.

[I can’t. Sorry. I already made plans with someone else.]

He sends it, drops the phone onto the bed, and turns back to the mirror. The tie comes next. His hands move with careful precision, eyes focused, jaw set.

Then another chime from the phone…

Ding.

[Is it a date with that girl? Just cancel it. You have no idea what you’re missing.]

Ryoma takes a look just on the screen, and ignores it. He is back to the mirror, finishes the knot, straightens the collar, and smiles. Satisfied enough.

He grabs his phone again as he steps into his shoes. That’s when the front bell rings.

Ding dong.

“Oh,” he mutters. “Must be Aramaki.”

As he heads for the stairs, the phone chimes again.

Ding.

[My dad prepared this so you could meet some big names in business.]

Ryoma slows, thumb hovering over the screen, finally ready to respond.

But again…

Ding.

[So you can widen your reach. Your connections.]

He stops walking. Types. Deletes. Types again.

But before he can finish…

Ding.

[To win contracts. Sponsors. Don’t you get that?]

The doorbell rings again.

Ding dong.

And another few steps on the stairs, his phone vibrates in his hand.

[You think winning fights alone is enough? You need to socialize. You need to market yourself.]

Ryoma’s jaw tightens, but she’s done yet.

Ding.

[You don’t even have a manager. You think Nakahara can handle all this? He can’t even keep his own gym afloat.]

The words land sharper than the rest. And the front door bell rings again. But before he can move, Fumiko is already there. She opens the door, and…

“Oh, Reika…” she says, genuinely surprised, then smiling as she steps aside. “Please, come in.”

Reika barely acknowledges the greeting. She doesn’t return the smile, doesn’t remove her coat, doesn’t even fully step inside before asking, voice flat and impatient, “Where’s Ryoma?”

Fumiko blinks, caught off guard by the tone. “He’s upstairs, changing…”

“That won’t be necessary,” Reika cuts in, already moving forward. Her heels click sharply against the floor. “Tell him to come down. We’re running late.”

Fumiko turns, confusion creasing her brow. But before Fumiko can answer, Ryoma steps into the doorway. He stands straight, composed, but his thoughts are already racing, searching for exits that don’t exist.

“There you are,” Reika says, eyes scanning him. Her gaze flicks over the suit, assessing. “Looks like you’re ready.”

Fumiko looks between them, confused. “I didn’t know she would join us too.”

“I didn’t invite her,” Ryoma says plainly.

Reika’s expression tightens, just for a fraction of a second. But she recovers fast. “So it’s true… You really are choosing something else. With your mom, perhaps.”

She steps closer, voice lowering, controlled, authoritative. “Cancel it. Whatever this is. This meeting matters, Ryoma. My father arranged it for your career.”

She turns to Fumiko, assuming alliance. “You understand, don’t you? Opportunities like this don’t come twice. He needs exposure. The right people. Not small plans for christmas.”

Fumiko opens her mouth, seeming to say something. But and another voice cuts in from behind Reika.

“Ah… sorry, are we late?”

Reika turns, and sees Aramaki standing just outside the door, one hand raised awkwardly in greeting. Beside him is Kaori, bundled in a coat, Nanako peeking shyly from behind her leg.

Aramaki blinks at the scene, then smiles uncertainly. “Uh… hey. Didn’t know you had company.” His eyes land on Reika. “Oh. Are you coming with us?”

No one answers. The silence stretches thin, the mood becomes uncomfortable.

Kaori’s smile falters. Nanako grips her sleeve. Aramaki shifts his weight, sensing the tension but not yet understanding it.

***

Two short honks cut through the tense quiet from the street below; sharp, familiar, perfectly timed. Ryoma doesn’t need to look out to know who it is.

Ennosuke-san never misses a pickup. Almost immediately, another engine rolls to a stop behind it. He ordered two taxis earlier, anticipating this exact kind of mess without admitting it to himself.

Ryoma exhales through his nose and turns toward his mother. “That’ll be Ennosuke-san,” he says, voice steady. “Let’s go.”

Fumiko looks between him and Reika, her expression gentle but uncertain. She gives Ryoma a small nod, trusting him without asking questions, then turns back to Reika.

Despite the tension hanging in the air, she bows lightly, polite to the end.

“Oh, Reika-chan…” she says warmly. “Please excuse us.”

Reika barely reacts. Her jaw is tight, eyes fixed past Fumiko, already searching for Ryoma again.

Fumiko steps out into the hallway. Nanako greets her immediately, bright and cheerful, and Kaori follows, smiling shyly.

Aramaki offers Ryoma a brief nod, and maybe an apology for the timing, before guiding his family down the stairs.

Now Ryoma is alone with Reika. But he doesn’t bother easing into it.

“I’m not going,” he says flatly. “And I’m not canceling anything.”

Reika turns slowly, arms crossing over her chest. “You’re making a mistake.”

“I invited people,” Ryoma continues. “Aramaki’s family. Nakahara. Kenta. I’m not throwing that away.”

Reika just watches him, still standing rigid in the doorway. Her expression is tightly controlled, but her eyes are sharp, angry and calculating, already weighing how to push back.

Ryoma lets out a short breath, patience thinning. He grips her arm, not roughly but decisively, and pulls her just outside the threshold, enough to make his point clear.

“Listen carefully,” he says. “Even now, I don’t consider you a friend.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“You forced yourself into my life,” he goes on, voice even, unyielding. “You interfered with my relationship with Kaede. You kept showing up at the gym with Aki, and I couldn’t stop you because it wasn’t my place. It wasn’t my gym.”

Reika’s composure cracks. “You think I did all of that for myself?” she snaps. “I helped you. I made people notice you. I introduced you to my father. NSN backed you when no one else would. Your career didn’t just move on its own, Ryoma.”

“That was business,” he cuts in immediately. “NSN used my name, my fights, my image. Your father made money. A lot of it. That doesn’t give you authority over me.”

Her voice rises. “You don’t understand how this works…”

“And you don’t get to talk to my mother like she owes you something,” Ryoma says sharply. “Not now. Not ever.”

The words land hard. Reika opens her mouth, then closes it, frustration and something like hurt flashing across her face. “I did this for you,” she insists, quieter now. “I wanted to help.”

Ryoma steps closer. Something shifts in his expression; something colder, sharper, stripped of restraint. It’s the same look people see right before a fight turns ugly. The Cruel King, unmasked.

“I broke Serrano’s face once,” he says calmly, “because of how he frightened a woman you know can’t protect herself.”

Reika’s breath catches.

“You ever pull something like this again,” he continues, voice low and precise, “toward my mother… I won’t hesitate to break your neck.”

Silence swallows the hallway.

For a heartbeat, Reika looks like she might say something, anything, but the words don’t come. Anger, disappointment, disbelief twist across her face, then harden into something guarded.

Ryoma steps back. Without another word, he closes the apartment door and locks it. He heads down the stairs, leaving Reika behind standing alone in the quiet, staring at him that isn’t going to turn around.