VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 417: Finding Southpaw Was the Easy Part

Chapter 417: Finding Southpaw Was the Easy Part

Around them, the rest of the gym has gone quiet.

At first, the other boxers only slow their training out of curiosity, glances thrown between rounds, pauses between jump rope sets.

But as Nakahara’s explanation stretches on, curiosity turns into attention. One by one, gloves come down. Footwork drills stop. Even the ring clears.

None of them has ever fought a southpaw. And if any of them are serious about climbing higher, about stepping into regional or world-level fights, this is a situation they will have to face sooner or later.

Their training stalls without anyone calling it. Sera and Hiroshi notice, exchange a glance, and say nothing. They know moments like this shape a fighter too, just not in ways that show up on a stopwatch.

Back in the ring, Nakahara raises his mitts again. “Now let’s put that slip-outside uppercut into a drill,” he says. “Come, start it with a one-two.”

Ryoma steps back into range and resumes the mitt session. His movement is familiar, compact and efficient. The combinations come as they always do.

Pak. Pak.

“One-two-three.”

Pak. Pak. Pak.

“Again.”

“One-two. One-two-one. One-one-two.”

Pak. Pak.

Pak. Pak. Pak.

Pak. Pak. Pak.

The rhythm builds, clean and steady. Nakahara feeds him patterns, calling numbers, shifting angles, tightening the pace.

And then, at the end of a familiar sequence, he alters the shape smoothly without breaking the tempo, forcing Ryoma to adjust.

“Slip out,” Nakahara says, simulates a slow left jab while sliding his right mitt under his chin. “Right upper.”

Ryoma slips his head just outside the line and drives his right glove up from underneath, snapping into the mitt.

Pak!

“Good,” Nakahara says. “Again. Faster this time. Tighter.”

They reset, and the drill repeats, over and over.

One-two. One-two-one. One-one-two. One-three-two.

Then the jab comes, and Ryoma slips outside, answering with a right uppercut that travels through a space so small it barely looks real.

Pak!

“Better,” Nakahara says. “Now let’s switch it.”

He changes stance, right foot forward this time, right hand leading.

“Southpaw.”

The calls stay the same. Ryoma adjusts without hesitation. His feet realign. His shoulders follow.

The combinations flow until Nakahara shoots a right jab.

“Slip-outside uppercut!”

This time Ryoma moves left, slipping past the jab, and threads a left uppercut up from under Nakahara’s right arm.

Pak!

Nakahara nods once, but the mitts stay up.

They keep going, again and again, the same counters appear at the end of different sequences, woven into the rhythm until they stop feeling like a new technique and start feeling like an option. Until it becomes something that can surface naturally when needed.

When Nakahara finally drops the mitts, the gym exhales with him. He watches Ryoma for a moment, studying the way the kid resets his stance, the way his breathing stays controlled even after a long session.

Ryoma’s ability to absorb new drills never fails to impress him.

The title fight is close, and time is short. But adaptability like this gives him something to hold onto.

“Since you’re replacing Sagawa,” Nakahara says, “we’ll follow the original schedule and go to Australia as planned. Same hotel. Same dates. Flights are set for February fifteenth.”

Ryoma blinks. “That’s… only ten days before the fight. Is that enough time to acclimate?”

Nakahara exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what they were thinking when they scheduled it like that. Maybe they wanted Sagawa to have more camp time here with Shinichi Yanagimoto. But it saves money if we stick to it.”

He glances at Ryoma. “Unless you plan to fund the entire trip yourself.”

“I don’t mind,” Ryoma says immediately.

Nakahara squints. “All six of us?”

“…Six?” Ryoma hesitates. “That many?”

“That’s the number they’re willing to cover. Turning this down would be a huge loss.”

“So…”

“So we follow the schedule,” Nakahara says. “Which means more training time here. And I’ll find a southpaw for your sparring.”

Ryoma nods. No more argument there.

The truth is, he doesn’t need a sparring partner the way others do. The system’s Phantom Mode feature has always been enough. But that’s not something he can explain. And Nakahara will do what a coach should do.

From ringside, Sera calls out, “About the six…. who’s going? We can’t bring everyone.”

Nakahara turns around, considering.

For spots are obvious; Nakahara, Ryoma, Sera, and Hiroshi are guaranteed. That leaves two spots.

As Nakahara glances around, every head lifts. Hope flashes across tired faces, visions of Australia, of ocean air and bright lights already forming.

Then Ryohei raises a hand first. “I can be Ryoma’s sparring partner while we’re there.”

“No,” Nakahara says flatly. “You have your own title fight coming up.”

Ryohei lowers his hand, disappointment written plainly across his face.

“I need someone to help Ryoma condition for infighting,” Nakahara continues. “Aramaki. Interested?”

Aramaki points at himself, uncertain. “I’d love to. But that means leaving my family.”

“Ten days,” Nakahara says. “Maybe two more after the fight.”

Aramaki hesitates, and then nods slowly. “I’ll talk to my wife.”

“The last spot goes to Kenta,” Nakahara says. “We’ll need you as a cornerman again.”

Kenta’s grin spreads instantly. “Nice.”

Beside him, Okabe pouts exaggeratedly. “This is unfair. This is the most important fight our gym has had. Ryoma’s going to win. He’ll be the next OPBF champion. I want to be there when it happens.”

“You talk too much,” Nakahara scoffs. “Just say you want a vacation. If you want to go so badly, pay for it yourself.”

Ryohei’s face lights up. He slings an arm around Okabe’s shoulders. “That’s not a bad idea. We could use our Class-A tournament bonus. What do you think?”

“Ryohei,” Nakahara warns, “I told you to stay and focus on training.”

“Come on, old man,” Ryohei says, raising a hand. “Three days around fight week won’t kill me.”

“Let them go,” Ryoma says suddenly. “That way I can bring my mom too. And maybe Aramaki’s wife. They can travel later with Ryohei and Okabe.”

“Wait, Ryoma—” Aramaki starts.

“It’s fine,” Ryoma says, waving him off. “I’ll cover Kaori and Nanako’s expenses.”

Nakahara stares at him for a long moment, then clicks his tongue. “You’re too generous for your own good.”

The discussion ends there.

Nakahara claps his hands once. “Back to training. All of you.”

The gym slowly comes back to life—gloves go on, ropes spin, footwork resumes. As the noise returns, Nakahara turns to Sera.

“Keep an eye on things,” he says. “I’m heading out. I’ll find a southpaw.”

Sera nods.

Ryoma watches Nakahara leave, then steps back toward the center of the mat. His body settles into motion again, drills flowing into instinct.

Outside the gym, Coach Nakahara doesn’t get more than three steps before he realizes his mistake.

The sidewalk is still crowded. Journalists straighten the moment they spot him, cameras lifting, recorders already thrust forward as they close in.

“Coach Nakahara… how’s the preparation going?”

“When are you leaving for Australia?”

“Do you have contacts there?”

“Can you even communicate with the local camp… do you speak English?”

“I have no comments,” Nakahara says flatly, shoulders squared as he pushes through the cluster. “I’m busy. Move.”

He splits the crowd with little ceremony, reaches his electric scooter, and swings a leg over it. But then, his hand pauses on the ignition.

He looks back. “…One thing,” he says. “Does anyone here know a southpaw? Lightweight. Anyone local.”

The reporters glance at each other, thrown off. A moment passes before one of them speaks up.

“There’s a twenty-four-year-old at Azuma Gym. But he’s super lightweight. And honestly… his level’s not high.”

Nakahara nods once. “I see. Thanks.”

He turns the scooter on and rides off. Behind him, the journalists murmur among themselves.

“Finding a southpaw to spar is already this hard…”

“And he’s not even fighting just a mere southpaw.”

“Yeah. He’s fighting a switch hitter like McConnel.”

There’s a pause as an uncertainty spreads amongst them.

“…Do you think Ryoma can really win this?”