VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 438: A Champion Dictates

Chapter 438: A Champion Dictates

The sound that fills the arena when the bell ends the second round isn’t an explosion. It’s a restless buzz, layered and uneven, spreading outward like heat.

Something has shifted. People aren’t shouting Ryoma Takeda’s name yet, they aren’t chanting. But they aren’t doubting him either. The uncertainty that clung to him in the first round has loosened its grip, replaced by something sharper.

Curiosity, recalibration, the sense that whatever they thought this fight was going to be, it has quietly become something else.

The youngster who looked stiff and pressured early didn’t crumble. He’s finally settled, finally showing what he’s capable off.

And by the end of the second round, the ring had started to tilt Ryoma’s way.

At ringside, the commentators are still half out of their seats, voices overlapping with frustration more than excitement.

“Oh, come on,” one of them says. “That bell ruined it.”

“We were about to get fireworks,” the other agrees. “Both men planted, both shoulders loaded. Hooks ready on both sides.”

“And denied,” the first says, shaking his head. “Just when it was about to turn into a slugfest.”

“And that’s the cruel part,” the second adds.

They sound like they didn’t actually see Ryoma’s last punch, only that the bell ended it. And they move on quickly, because commentary never stops for what might have happened.

“But make no mistake,” the first continues, tone leveling out. “That round belongs to Takeda. McConnel had his moments early, especially to the body, but once Takeda found his rhythm with the left, the fight slowed to his pace.”

“Absolutely,” the second says. “He controlled distance with just that lead hand. Flickers, variations, timing. He made the champion work just to step in.”

“And that last exchange we didn’t get?” the first muses, bringing that dissatisfaction again. “That’s the one people will be talking about.”

“Do you think it comes again?” the second asks.

“…Who knows?” the first shrugs.

Across the ring, Jade doesn’t look like a man who just lost momentum. His shoulders loose but his brow slightly furrowed. There’s a faint crease between his brows that refuses to smooth out.

Something doesn’t sit right. Not heavy enough to drop him. Not clean enough to stagger him. But real enough to register, and strange enough to linger.

What hit me?

The question hangs unanswered as his corner talks around him.

Back in the blue corner, Ryoma isn’t smiling either. He’s looking irritated himself, because the system won’t leave him at peace after that short exchange.

No one leaves that second round satisfied. Not the champion, not the challenger. And not the system that refuses to let Ryoma forget what almost was.

<< That was a perfect opportunity. You could have ended the fight right there. >>

<< The opening was absolute. From his blind spot. And you didn’t commit. >>

Ryoma exhales through his nose as he drops to the stool, irritation simmering under his skin.

“Come on… I was surprised too. I didn’t even know that opening existed.”

<< Excuses. >>

<< You hesitated because you were afraid of his punch. >>

<< If you committed fully, the fight ends there. You might have taken one back, but it would’ve been the last punch you took tonight. >>

<< You are a coward. Too soft. >>

This time, Ryoma doesn’t argue. But his jaw tightens, the frustration burning hotter than the fatigue in his arms.

Nakahara notices immediately. “What is it?” he asks.

“I found a perfect opening just now,” Ryoma says.

Nakahara’s eyes narrow slightly, but his voice stays even. “That last punch? The bell cut it short, and you couldn’t follow it through. Can’t help it. Now forget that and steady your breathing.”

Ryoma doesn’t lean back. He shakes his head once. “Give me a moment… I need to make sure of something.”

His gaze lifts past Nakahara, locking onto the opposite corner.

Jade is talking now, hands moving in short, frustrated motions. Ryoma focuses, reading lips rather than hearing words.

<< …no, I was lucky. That bell saved me… >>

<< …so you didn’t see it? >>

Ryoma’s eyes slide to Mark Holloway. He can’t see the man’s face, only his back. But Mark shakes his head once.

And that’s enough of an answer. They didn’t see it. And Jade’s expression, far from confident, only tightens with confusion.

“Good…” Ryoma murmurs under his breath. “They still don’t realize it.”

Nakahara hears the tone and crouches slightly in front of him. “What are they talking about?”

“You said you saw that last punch,” Ryoma replies quietly. “But the champion didn’t. Not even his corner.”

Nakahara blinks, surprised. He glances sideways at Sera, and Sera looks just as confused. Even if the commentators stated it as if the bell denied the exchange, both Sera and Nakahara saw Ryoma’s punch clearly, clean as day.

Then a much better realization sinks deeper in Sera’s head. “No way…” he mutters. “Don’t tell me that was a phantom punch.”

Ryoma nods once. “I didn’t expect it either.”

He closes his eyes, letting the noise of the arena fade as he replays the moment again, slower now, trying to recall the sequence with a sharper clarity.

“Jade came in,” he begins, voice low. “He pinned my right glove with his own, stopped me from firing a counter. At the same time, he switched stance. Pivoted deep. Chest to chest.”

Nakahara listens without interrupting. Sera only blinks, absorbing it. Even Kenta and Aramaki grow still, their hands moving out of habit now, attention fixed on Ryoma’s words.

“But when he did that,” Ryoma continues, opening his eyes, “he forgot about my left. I kept it tight to my side. Too tight for him to worry about.”

Sera leans forward slightly. “…But you landed, right?”

“And he stayed standing,” Ryoma says, frustration slipping into his voice. “That’s the problem. I didn’t throw it to finish. I threw it expecting his hook. I was setting the infight, not thinking about ending the fight.”

He exhales slowly. “I only realized what it was after it already happened.”

***

Across the ring, Jade sits quietly now, elbows resting on his knees, towel draped loosely over his shoulders. He listens as his corner speaks, but only half of it registers. His thoughts keep circling the same empty space, the same moment that refuses to resolve itself.

“Don’t let the noise fool you,” Marks says. “That kid’s left hand is special. I’ve seen a lot of guys fight you, Jade. Nobody’s ever controlled you like that with just a jab.”

Jade’s eyes lift slightly, finally listening.

“The timing, the precision,” Mark continues. “Textbook, then loose, then sharp again. And the confidence to do it here, in front of this crowd. He did look under pressure back in the first round. But don’t expect for the same now.”

Jade exhales through his nose. “The left’s not the problem anymore.”

Mark tilts his head, waiting.

“It started with the two-beat flicker,” Jade says. “That second jab… it only works because it’s light, annoying, meant to disrupt you. But I can knock it away. Once I do, everything that comes after dies with it.”

A faint smile touches Mark’s mouth. “Good. Then take it back. Break his rhythm. Force him back into that shell. And when he does… break him.”

Jade nods once, inhales short, and exhales slowly.

He still doesn’t know what hit him at the end of the round. The answer isn’t there yet, and there’s no time to go digging for it

Experience tells him something else matters more. You don’t chase ghosts in the middle of a fight. You impose yourself and make the other man busy looking for the answer, not the other round.

He is the champion, and a champion doesn’t react.

He dictates.