VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 436: When the Shell Breaks
Chapter 436: When the Shell Breaks
Jade doesn’t fire yet. He studies, and from his perspective as a southpaw, the picture is wrong.
With him settling with his right foot forward, he sees Ryoma isn’t square up to him. Just a shoulder turned in, a narrow line of torso. Ryoma’s chest is hidden, the right side barely visible.
From this angle, the usual lanes are gone. The body is sealed except for the left ribs, and the head is no longer sitting on the line his rear hand wants to travel.
His left, the power hand, will take farther distance to travel, easier to read. And if he reaches with the right, even a little too far, Ryoma’s right from below is waiting again.
Ryoma gives him nothing straight on. He veers left, outside Jade’s right. And then his left hand, from hanging low, flickering once, twice.
Wsht. Wsht.
The jabs snap out fast and light, more signal than strike. Jade lifts his guard and blocks them cleanly.
Dug. Dug.
Then the third comes a half-beat later, wider, slapping across where his glove just was. Jade dips his head and steps back, resetting the space without protest.
“He’s managing distance early,” one commentator notes. “Those flickers aren’t power shots. They’re fences.”
Jade steps in again, smaller this time, testing the angle. Ryoma doesn’t move forward. He folds inward instead, shoulder tight, elbow pinned, shell closing like a hinge.
Jade prods with the right, touching Ryoma’s forearm.
Dug.
Nothing clean.
He hesitates, then edges closer, just enough to threaten the body. But Ryoma stays compact, head tilted away, ribs sealed off. The target isn’t there.
Jade exhales and throws another probing right, longer now, trying to draw a reaction. And Ryoma bends at the waist and fires his right from below, compact and sudden.
Jade sees it coming.
“I’ve seen this.”
He catches it on his left glove.
Dp.
And this time, he doesn’t linger. He steps back at once, boots sliding just out of range before anything else can come. It denies Ryoma any chance to follow it up.
“That counter’s loaded,” the second commentator says. “Jade felt it in the first round. He’s not sticking around this time.”
They reset again. Flicker. Block. Flicker wide, only cutting air, but forces Jade stay in the distance.
The crowd stirs, restless, reacting to motion without contact.
When Jade presses, Ryoma closes the shell. And Jade backs out immediately when Ryoma’s right threatens.
Neither man forces the issue. The tension thickens instead, coiling between them.
Jade’s eyes stay calm. He’s filing it away.
Ryoma’s breathing steadies, but the sway stays small, restrained.
Thirty seconds gone, and the center of the ring remains contested not by punches, but by angles neither man is ready to surrender.
But it doesn’t mean Jade is clueless for this situation. He’s studied Ryoma beforehand, and foreseen this to happen.
“Fine, let me give you a surprise…”
Jade presses again from southpaw, measured and patient, stepping just close enough to make the shell close.
He probes with the right, a jab aimed more at position than damage. Ryoma folds inward on instinct, shoulder turning, head slipping off the line. The flicker dies, and the shell seals.
But Jade keeps working; a short right snaps out, then another.
Dug. Dug.
Ryoma absorbs them on forearm and glove, elbows tight, letting the shots slide off his frame.
Jade dips his shoulder and sends a left toward the body. Ryoma rolls with it, the punch scraping across ribs instead of landing flush.
Jade tries again, varying the rhythm. A jab to lift the guard, then a compact hook. Ryoma leans, bends, lets his shoulder take it, deflects the follow-up with a small parry that kills its force.
Dug.
Dug. Dug.
Nothing clean, but the pressure builds anyway.
The crowd responds to the motion, the sound swelling with every swing, even without a clear connection.
“Jade’s pouring it on,” one commentator says. “He’s asking questions every second now.”
“But listen to this,” the other cuts in. “Nothing’s getting through. Takeda’s denying him clean shots inside that shell.”
Jade steps a bit further, aiming for the head using his right. And Ryoma bends on the waist, taking his head away, his right hand ready to fire back from below.
But here comes the surprise.
That right was a feint. Jade halts, and uses his right to hold Ryoma’s right glove instead.
Then his left foot slides forward and across in one smooth motion. A pivot follows, quiet and decisive.
As he turns to orthodox stance, the angle flips. Jade stands right before Ryoma, chest to chest.
“Now I can see you whole…”
Ryoma’s breathe catches. The shell doesn’t fit anymore.
The space he’s been protecting collapses all at once, and for the first time tonight, the fight stops being about distance and becomes something else entirely.
A left hook arcs toward his head, close enough to matter now. Ryoma snaps his right glove up in time.
Dug. Blocked clean.
Another hook comes from the other side. Ryoma lifts his left glove, elbows pinched tight.
Dug. Blocked again.
But Jade doesn’t stay upstairs.
A left thuds into Ryoma’s midsection, compact and heavy. Before he can brace, a right follows, digging into the ribs.
Thud! Bugh!
Ryoma exhales sharp through his teeth and fires back on instinct, a short right hook snapping upward.
Jade ducks under it, letting the punch skim above his head, and answers with another hook to the body.
Thud!
Ryoma’s face twitches, breath hitching.
“I can’t stay…”
He cuts the thought short, reaching out, snaking his arms over Jade’s to smother the next punch before it forms.
The clinch lasts only a heartbeat. Ryoma shoves Jade away as he steps back, creating space with his forearms and shoulders.
Then the flickers return, sharp and insistent, slicing the air between them. Not meant to land, just to keep Jade at the edge of reach.
“Ryoma didn’t like that exchange at all,” one says. “Those body shots forced him out.”
Jade blocks once, and then stays outside the range, letting him go. He doesn’t chase, actually shaking his head slightly, amused, having seen the flash of panic cross Ryoma’s face.
“And look at Jade shaking his head,” the other commentator adds. “He’s giving the space on purpose. He’s seen the reaction. He knows what he drew out of him.”
The crowd buzzes, loud and restless, sensing the shift even if they can’t name it.
***
The unease reaches the blue corner too.
Nakahara’s hands still for a moment as he watches Ryoma backpedal, flickers snapping out more sharply now.
His eyes narrow as that exchange didn’t look right. Not the blocks, not the shell, but the reaction after; Ryoma losing ground even at close distance against Jade in his orthodox stance.
Around him, the corner stays quiet, but the stillness carries weight.
Back in the ring, Ryoma keeps the distance the only way he can.
Wsht. Wsht.
The flickers snap out again, quick and insistent, cutting space instead of flesh. His thoughts churn faster than his feet.
What now?
Not even the Philly Shell can protect me.
He switches stance, and he’s there. Right in front of my face.
For a split second, the pressure threatens to rise again.
And then the system scoffs, annoying as usual.
<< So what if he’s right in front of your face. >>
<< You lost that exchange because you lost your calm, not because your guard failed. >>
“Shut up… you are not helping now.”
<< Look… He switched to orthodox to step deeper. To force the fight chest to chest. So he can reach your head. >>
<< But wasn’t that part of your plan too? >>
Ryoma’s sway slows. His breathing steadies, just a fraction.
<< Fighting him chest to chest negates the switch-hitter problem. >>
<< You knew this. You were trained for this. >>
His eyes sharpen again as the flickers keep Jade honest. The question isn’t if the space will close.
It’s whether Ryoma is ready when it does.
