VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 510: Living in Someone Else’s Shadow

Chapter 510: Living in Someone Else’s Shadow

Title fight or not, Ryohei leaves the gym in the late morning as usual. There is no extra roadwork, no request for additional pads, no lingering discussion with Sera about adjustments or strategy.

Nothing about his routine changes. He showers, changes, and walks out as if the sparring session from earlier has already slipped into the background.

Okabe walks beside him, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, their footsteps echoing lightly along the sidewalk. To anyone watching, they look like two fighters heading home after an ordinary day.

“Man…” Okabe exhales, tilting his head back. “That kid’s getting way too full of himself lately.”

Ryohei glances at him for only a second, and then looks straight ahead again.

“I mean, I don’t hate that he became OPBF champion,” Okabe continues. “Good for him and all. But honestly? I kinda hope he tastes defeat at least once. Just so he knows how bad it feels to be ordinary.”

The words sit poorly in the air. Ryohei understands how ugly they sound. Wishing failure on someone from the same gym reeks of jealousy.

And yet, he does not argue, because the same bitterness exists inside him too, buried deeper, quieter, but no less real.

“Hey,” Okabe says after a moment, trying to lighten the mood. “Let’s hit Akihabara later.”

“Akihabara?” Ryohei repeats.

“Yeah. It’s been forever since I played arcade games,” Okabe says. “Honestly, ever since Ryoma joined the gym, I feel guilty just thinking about it. Like I’m wasting time.”

Then he shrugs lazily. “But what’s the point of living if you can’t even touch your own hobbies anymore?”

Ryohei lets out a dry laugh. “I have a title fight in two weeks, and you’re inviting me to the arcade. You’re serious?”

“Fine, I’ll go alone,” Okabe replies easily. “If all I do is think about boxing every day, I’ll die of boredom first.”

Ryohei does not stop him. He does not agree either.

Their conversation thins after that. By the time they reach the intersection where their paths split, neither of them has anything left to say.

They part ways without ceremony, each walking forward with thoughts they do not share, and doubts they pretend are not growing heavier with every step.

After a moment, Ryohei comes to a halt and looks back, his gaze following Okabe as he walks farther away. The weight of Okabe’s words refuses to fade.

For Ryohei, boxing is important too. But it is not the only thing in his life.

Today, he has a date with his new girlfriend. But he couldn’t just mention that to Okabe, who is still painfully single.

***

Late afternoon, Ryohei sits in a quiet corner of a mall café, across from a girl he met earlier this year. Their relationship bloomed easily after his victory in the Class A Tournament final, arriving almost like a reward he never asked for.

Rin Fujikawa became that reward, the most tangible proof that things in his life were moving forward. She is lively, expressive, and endlessly talkative, the kind of girl whose presence alone usually makes his life feel full and uncomplicated.

Three years younger, openly emotional, prone to sudden mood changes, but she’s undeniably cute, exactly the type Ryohei has always fallen for without resistance.

“Seriously, I don’t get why they changed the menu,” she says, stirring her drink even though the ice has already melted. “The old strawberry soda was way better. This one tastes… fake. Like candy water.”

She takes a sip, frowns, and then shrugs. “Oh, and the cashier earlier? Totally rude. I was standing there forever, right? And she just kept chatting with her coworker like I wasn’t even there. If I were her manager, I’d scold her so bad.”

Rin laughs on her own and leans back in her chair. “But the mall is crowded today, so maybe she was just tired. Everyone’s tired lately. You know what I mean?”

She does not wait for an answer. “Ah! I forgot to tell you,” she continues, eyes lighting up. “I ran into Miki from my part-time job. She dyed her hair again. Pink this time. Can you imagine? Pink. I told her it looks cute, but honestly, it’s kind of scary.”

She giggles and tilts her head. “Do you think I could pull off pink hair? No, right? My dad would freak out if I came home like that.”

Her hands move constantly as she talks, fingers tapping the table, tracing shapes on the cup, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Oh! And I tried that new café on the third floor last week. The one with the bear logo? Don’t go there. It’s overpriced, and the cups are tiny.”

Ryohei listens. His eyes stay on her, but his thoughts drift back to the gym, to the ring, to the dull thud of Ryoma’s gloves against his guts, to the words that refuse to let go.

And finally, Rin stops mid-sentence and narrows her eyes.

“Ne… why are you so quiet today, Ryohei?”

Ryohei blinks, but his smile does not falter. “It’s nothing,” he says lightly. “I’m just enjoying listening to you.”

Rin’s lips pout immediately, her mood shifting without warning. “You know,” she says, crossing her arms, “you’re kind of boring today.”

“Huh? Why all of a sudden?” Ryohei asks.

She exhales sharply, clearly irritated. “It just reminded me… This morning, I read my dad’s newspaper, and you were in it.”

Ryohei stiffens slightly. “Really? What did it say?”

“Nothing good,” Rin answers bluntly. “People saying you only won the tournament because of luck. That you don’t belong anywhere near a national title fight.”

Her expression darkens further, as if he personally wronged her. “Even my dad thinks so,” she continues. “He knows I’m dating you, and he laughed about it this morning. He turned me into a joke. And you still think it’s fine to take me out on a casual date like this?”

Before Ryohei can respond, Rin stands, grabs her bag, and turns away.

“Wait… Rin, where are you going?” Ryohei asks.

“We’re done,” she snaps. “We’re breaking up.”

Ryohei blinks, completely caught off guard. “Eh? What the…? Rin, wait…”

But she is already breaking into a quick run, leaving behind curious stares and the awkward silence of a scene no one asked to witness. Ryohei remains seated, heat creeping up his ears as attention gathers, forcing him to stay where he is.

It feels like a waste, losing someone as cute as Rin over something like this. Yet as the moment settles, relief mixes with disappointment, because he knows her mood swings were never something he could truly control.

“What a weird girl…?”

But then, irritation surfaces, not about the break up, but the newspaper she talked about.

Ryohei pulls out his phone and searches his own name, but almost nothing appears. When he types Umemoto’s name instead, the screen floods with articles, headlines stacking one after another. Aki has not published hers yet, but she is clearly not the only journalist who visited the champion.

One article, dated May 3rd, reads:

“You journalists love fairy tales far too much. The prodigy moving chess pieces from the corner of the ring’ sounds great for a headline, doesn’t it?”

Another, published two days later, Umemoto also left his mark:

“Boxing is not about how clever the man in your corner is. At the end of the round, when your lungs are burning, there are only two men hitting each other. Ryoma may have a Chief Second license or even an OPBF title, but he cannot punch for Ryohei. He is only playing ’God’ for a fighter who is already running on empty.”

Then comes another article, released the same day, with words far sharper than the rest:

“Ryohei is nothing more than a wooden puppet, propped up by a machine Ryoma built to make him appear alive. That machine only functions against weak opposition. In front of me, that puppet will shatter. I clawed my way up from the bottom, forging bone and muscle through real pain, not borrowed brilliance. I am reality. What they are selling is artificial hype wrapped around one clever kid.”

“And my opponent… he can still laugh while his kouhai speak over him and act like his superiors. Any man who permits that has already surrendered his dignity.”

Those last lines are the same words Umemoto gave Aki, the same phrasing Ryoma read in her notes. The ones Ryoma asked her not to publish.

But Umemoto had repeated himself to other journalists, careless and relentless, and now the words have reached Ryohei anyway.

Ryohei lowers his phone slowly. The chatter of the café dulls and drains away, leaving only the weight pressing down on his chest.

Being dumped by Rin stings. But this, it cuts deeper.

This one digs straight into his pride.

“Right…” he mutters under his breath. “He should still be at the gym.”

He stands up, pushing his chair back without finishing his drink. His thoughts are already moving, locking onto a single direction.

“I’m not taking that title fight until I beat his ass first.”