VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 560: Under the Lights of Yoyogi

Chapter 560: Under the Lights of Yoyogi

Maria loses sight of Reika within seconds after entering the flow of bodies moving toward the gates. The crowd thickens as more spectators push forward.

For a brief moment, Maria considers calling her, but a young man in a staff jacket approaches and bows slightly.

“Maria-san.”

She recognizes him immediately. “Tetsu. Have you seen Reika?”

Tetsu glances around at the sea of faces, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of attendees.

“With this many people, it’s hard to tell,” he admits. “It’s possible one of our staff has already escorted her to her seat. Please, allow me to take you to yours.”

Maria nods and follows him inside.

Even though not every seat is filled yet, the arena already feels alive.

The lower bowl is densely occupied, and the front rows are almost completely taken.

Representatives from major sponsors sit prominently near ringside, their tailored suits and polished expressions unmistakable.

Among them are internationally recognized fighters and their entourages, including both the reigning WBC and WBA champions with their respective management teams positioned carefully behind them.

On another side of the ring sits the delegation from Thailand, the very promoters who lost the purse bid months ago. Their posture is composed, but their eyes track every detail of production.

Not far from them is DaisukeYoshizawa with his champion Shinichi Yanagimoto, speaking in low tones while scanning the arena floor. With them is Sonoda Eizan, now ranked number one in the Super Featherweight after his decisive victory over veteran Takata Eisaku.

Newly crowned Super Featherweight champion Leonardo Serrano is also present with his manager. Two seats nearby remain conspicuously empty: Renji Kuroiwa and Daigo Kirizume have yet to be seen.

***

At center ring, the second undercard bout is already underway. Mino Anzai of Murakami’s Boxing Gym is locked into a six-round Class-B contest against Shimada Seishiro from Okinawa.

Coach Murakami stands rigid at the edge of the blue corner, his earlier disappointment still lingering after Ishihara Iso dropped a close decision in the previous fight. But now a cautious hope returns to his expression as he watches Anzai dictate the tempo.

“Here it is, ladies and gentlemen!” the commentator’s voice booms through the arena speakers, reverberating across the rafters. “You are witnessing history tonight! An OPBF stage that feels nothing short of world class!”

Sweat sprays under the lights as both fighters trade in the center, each punch thrown with reckless ambition. The two young fighters exchange furious combinations, neither willing to conserve energy.

Anzai controls the center with sharper footwork, stepping in and out of range while forcing his opponent backward with disciplined combinations.

“These young men understand the magnitude of this platform!” the commentator continues. “Six rounds, no holding back! They are burning everything they have to ignite this crowd!”

Murakami leans forward over the ropes, unable to contain himself as momentum tilts in their favor.

“Don’t rush it, Anzai! Break him down first!”

The audience responds with rising cheers as Anzai’s sharp right hand snaps Sheisiro’s head sideways. The atmosphere grows louder, more electric with every exchange.

***

Maria scans the northern side of the arena near the red corner and spots Hirotaka Fujimoto surrounded by executives from Aqualis Labs. Yet Reika is nowhere among the ringside seats.

Tetsu gently steps closer. “Shall I escort you to your seat now, Maria-san?”

Maria shakes her head once. “No. Take me to Ryoma Takeda’s locker room.”

Tetsu bows slightly.

“This way.”

He leads Maria away from the bright noise of the arena floor and into the interior corridor that connects to the fighters’ quarters.

The main locker closest to the blue corner corridor is assigned to Kiet Anurak and his fighter, Thanid Kouthai. Their team moves with quiet efficiency inside, Thai voices rising and falling in clipped instruction.

Further down the corridor, Narisawa’s camp occupies another locker room. The atmosphere inside is tighter.

Shoji Hamakawa shadowboxes lightly in front of the mirror. At the center of the room, Coach Narisawa stands squared before Wakabayashi Yasuhide, mitt pads raised.

“Sharp,” Narisawa says.

Wakabayashi snaps a jab, with a cross following immediately, straight as a drawn line.

Pap! Pak!

“Again!”

Jab-cross. Pap! Pak!

Clean, balanced, feet under him, chin tucked, with his every motion economical.

“Good,” Narisawa mutters, subtly adjusting the angle of his left mitt to simulate a shifting target. “Keep it straight. No wasted motion.”

Wakabayashi pivots slightly after the combination, maintaining distance. His breathing remains controlled.

Narisawa lifts both mitts higher, level with his own temples. “Remember who you’re facing,” he says. “He is a brawler. He’s emotional. Hit him in the head early. Make him frustrated.”

Wakabayashi fires another crisp one-two, the cross landing square against the raised mitt.

Pap! Pak!!!

“When he gets irritated,” Narisawa continues, “he starts swinging. Wide. Reckless. That’s when you punish him.”

The mitts shift, left-right, forcing Wakabayashi to adjust with precision. Jab, cross, short step out, and then reset.

“Do not bathe in the mud with him,” Narisawa says firmly. “You are not that kind of fighter. Keep your distance. Break him down slowly. Round by round.”

***

Meanwhile, former champion Miyamoto Rikiya has been given a separate locker, a subtle acknowledgment of his name value. He shares the space with another B-class fighter, though the arrangement clearly favors him.

A few steps farther down, another prepared locker stands open, equipment laid out with careful precision but no one inside.

Maria slows. “Whose room is this?”

Tetsu glances briefly toward it. “Arman Sargsyan’s camp.”

“They haven’t arrived yet?”

“Not yet.”

“What are they doing?” Maria murmurs, unease settling quietly in her chest.” The event is already underway.”

***

At the far end of that opposite wing, Nakahara’s entire fighters share a single locker room. As Maria steps inside, she finds Reika exactly where she expected, currently engaged in casual conversation with Nakahara.

“There you are,” Maria says, exhaling softly. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Nakahara turns and offers a polite bow. “Maria-san. I’m glad to see you here as well.”

Maria offers a small apologetic smile. “I hope our presence doesn’t disturb the fighters’ concentration.”

Nakahara waves the concern away almost immediately. “Not at all. You are our most important partner. Without NSN, this event might never have happened.”

His eyes brighten as he gestures vaguely toward the arena beyond the corridor walls. “I saw the setup earlier. The production is extraordinary. Truly what people imagine when they say ’Vegas-level.’”

Maria inclines her head, accepting the compliment with restrained professionalism.

While Nakahara continues speaking, Reika’s attention drifts elsewhere. Across the room, Ryoma is already at work, holding the mitt pads for Okabe. His expression is calm but fully engaged, eyes sharp as he studies every movement.

“Wakabayashi is clean,” Ryoma says evenly during the break. “Technically sharp. Disciplined. But remember… he’s younger than you. Give him a fight he doesn’t like. Make him uncomfortable. Young blood doesn’t stay patient forever.”

Okabe nods, and then lowers his stance, crouching forward. His knees bend deeply, torso curved, both gloves raised tight to his temples while his midsection remains partially exposed.

“So I just stay like this?” he asks. “Like you showed me at the gym?”

“Lower,” Ryoma replies, extending his left mitt toward Okabe’s forehead. “Technicians like us obsess over form. We’re conditioned that way in mittwork. If you stay in that posture, he’ll be forced to jab and cross downward. That disrupts his rhythm. It irritates him.”

Ryoma flicks the mitt sharply toward Okabe’s head, again and again. Okabe dips even lower, rolling side to side, gloves absorbing what he cannot evade.

Then Ryoma swings the left mitt toward the side of Okabe’s right ribs, simulating a lead hook to the body. Okabe ignores the exposed space, stepping forward instead and driving an uppercut upward.

And Ryoma catches it cleanly with his right mitt.

Pak!

“Now you understand,” Ryoma says quietly. “You won’t beat him without taking damage. Your best option is to trade. Accept the body shot and aim for the head. That’s the hardest moment for anyone to defend.”

Okabe considers it. He knows it’s true. Even sparring Ryoma, an OPBF champion, has taught him the same lesson.

You cannot fully evade while attacking at the same time. When punches are exchanged simultaneously, something always lands.

Gradually, a slow determination settles into Okabe’s eyes. Then he nods once.

“Again,” Ryoma says.

Okabe resumes the awkward, low crouch, head protected, torso angled forward and seemingly vulnerable.

When Ryoma attacks the body, he must step in to simulate proper range, and that movement allows Okabe to close distance aggressively.

Ryoma guides him through short combinations, tight hooks and uppercuts thrown chest to chest, grinding, uncomfortable exchanges.

Finished with that, they pause once more.

“Keep this intensity,” Ryoma says firmly. “Be the annoying one. Never let him settle into his elegance.”

Then a shadow appears at the door. Coach Murakami stands there. The room stills with tension, because this means Anzai’s fight is over.

Aramaki steps forward. “The result?”

Anzai, face battered, grins. “I won.”

Aramaki gives him a nod of pride.

Murakami turns and tells his assistant to take Anzai back to the locker. And then he turns back to Nakahara.

“So, as discussed?”

Nakahara nods with a shrug. “Five fighters tonight. I’ll need you.”

“With pleasure,” Coach Murakami says, stepping inside.

Moments later, a staffer enters.

“Okabe-san. Ten minutes.”

Ryoma steps back, handing Okabe over to Coach Sera, who now assumes his role as chief second.

The mittwork resumes, shorter, sharper, and more procedural.

Across the room, Murakami approaches Hiroshi, already beginning the preparation for assistant cornerman duties.

No more smiles now, no more casual conversation. The warm-up fights are over, and outside, the crowd’s roar grows wilder.

The real fights at Yoyogi are about to begin, and the future of Nakahara’s gym will be measured under these lights.