VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 589: The Bet and the Beast

Chapter 589: The Bet and the Beast

Less than thirty seconds remain before the bell. Ryoma’s eyes flick to the HUD overlay in his vision. The countdown ticks: 27… 26… 25.

So far, he has gathered enough data from the first round, enough to know he is ahead. Now he only needs to maintain that advantage, conserve energy, and control the flow without revealing too much of his hand.

From the Philly stance, he flicks his left, starting from a lower position. One angle, then another, and again. It’s not much, just occasionally, but enough to keep Thanid busy, reacting, measuring, adjusting.

A twitch of Ryoma’s right shoulder here, a subtle shift there; enough to make the challenger hesitate without giving away intent.

“Look at that control!”

“Ryoma’s not even committed yet… and Thanid’s already working just to keep up!”

Reaching to the last ten seconds, Kiet Anurak slams the apron hard. But before Thanid can respond, Ryoma immediately ups the gear, and Nakahara freezes his own hand mid-slam, realizing the shift.

“He really can track the timer, huh?” the old man grunts.

Ryoma blends the left with a two-beat flicker now. The pendulum rhythm rides mostly on his lead foot.

He fires a textbook jab to the guard, shifts the angle wider without retracting, and clips Thanid’s right temple with a slapping left.

Dug. Dsh!

He feints, a twitch of the right shoulder, a slight lean to the right, and repeats the flicker.

Dug. Dsh!

Thanid tries to roll his torso, evade, but Ryoma tracks every micro-movement of his head.

And again…

Dug. Dsh!

Ryoma then steps slightly to the left, and executes a three-beat sequence: text-book jab to pin the guard, flicker to the temple, stiff piston jab in the middle ensuring no counter can form.

Dug. Dsh! Dug.

“Look at that precision! Masterclass in rhythm and timing!”

“Absolute dominance in subtlety! He’s making Thanid react without committing.”

The arena erupts. Thousands of voices merge, calling out his name in waves:

RYO-MA! RYO-MA! RYO-MA!

The challenger tries to stay in the fight, but the champion keeps landing, light yet precise. In six quick strikes, his left keeps whipping Thanid’s right temple repeatedly.

Frustration creeps into the challenger’s rhythm now, forcing him to step deeper.

But then, knowing the time up, Ryoma simply drops his guard casually.

Ding! Ding!

The bell sounds, but Thanid throws a rear hook to the body anyway.

“What the…?”

Ryoma pulls his torso just enough, and the glove slightly grazes against his midsection.

Even after that, he notices the twitch in Thanid’s right shoulder. Instinctively, Ryoma stretches his left to shove, intending to push the challenger off balance.

But the referee steps in immediately. “Hey, Ryoma! It’s the bell. No more punch after the bell.”

“Why don’t you tell him,” Ryoma argues, “he punched me after the bell.”

The ref glances at Thanid, but he’s already retreating toward his corner. His eyes then return to Ryoma, giving a firm warning.

“No more punches after the bell, you hear me? Now go back to your corner.”

Ryoma exhales, steps back, a faint crease on his brow. “Damn… lousy ref,” he mutters in Japanese, annoyed but restrained. “You should check your eyes after this fight.”

The camera lingers on Ryoma, a flicker of irritation still in his eyes. His muttered Japanese barely crosses the ropes, and the lead commentator chuckles, face breaking into a silly grin.

“Well, even the champion can get annoyed, folks! That’s the heat of the moment right there!”

The analyst, a foreigner, leans in, raising an eyebrow. “What did he just say?”

“He’s annoyed at the ref,” the commentator replies, still laughing lightly. “Says the guy’s doing a terrible job.”

The replay rolls. Thanid’s rear hook sails just after the final bell with the referee slow to intervene. Ryoma steps back, extending his left hand to shove Thanid away, only to get a warning instead.

Local fans murmur, some boos rising from the stands, a ripple of discontent. The referee shifts uneasily, glancing around as the tension hangs briefly.

“You can see why he’s frustrated,” the analysts says, shaking his head. “That should have been called immediately, but the referee hesitated, and the champion gets warned for trying to protect himself. It’s sloppy officiating, and it’s affected the flow of the round.”

***

Ryoma retreats to his corner, gloves lowered, shoulders still carrying the tension of the first round.

Coach Nakahara meets him immediately, his voice calm but firm. “Don’t get worked up yet. You had a good round. Just keep your head cool. I don’t want you losing your temper and risking those hands again.”

Ryoma exhales, a faint scowl crossing his brow. “I wasn’t losing it,” he mutters, still restrained. “I was just trying to push him away. And that fucking ref… he warned me!”

Nakahara shakes his head slightly, dabbing at Ryoma’s sweat. “I saw. You kept control. That’s what matters. Don’t let small frustrations distract you. You’re ahead; keep it that way.”

Across the ring, the blue corner is already in action. Thanid sits on his stool, an assistant trainer gently pressing on his right temple, on the spot where Ryoma’s flicking jabs and slaps have begun to leave a mark. A faint swelling has formed there, subtle but noticeable.

Kiet Anurak leans in close, eyes sharp, studying every micro-adjustment of Thanid’s posture, the way he’s holding the gloves, the slight grimace as the skin tenses.

“I told you, don’t hunt his head. You saw what happened. He’s measuring, baiting. Every reach, every step, he knows before you commit.”

“I’m just studying him,” Thanid fires back, voice tight. “I need to see how good he really is.”

“And you learned the hard way, didn’t you?” Kiet snaps, sharp and sarcastic. “Don’t make it harder for yourself. This isn’t home. This isn’t the ring you know. Keep it smart. We need you standing at the end.”

Thanid exhales, jaw tight, letting Kiet’s words settle. His eyes flick to the slight swelling on his temple, then back to his trainer, nodding subtly.

Kiet straightens, masking his irritation. That first round went far too one-sided, and he knows better than to let it show.

But something catches his eye in the red corner, and a small smirk forms at the thought. Ryoma is still arguing, still fuming at his trainer while gesturing toward the ref.

As a nasty idea comes to him, Kiet turns back to Thanid. “Well, looks like our champion isn’t exactly the type to keep his head cool. That ref made a terrible job of it, and you just saw how it got under him.”

“Expected,” Thanid murmurs. “He’s still too young.”

“Exactly,” Kiet continues, leaning slightly closer. “So why not use it? He’s brilliant, yes, good technique, great ring control… but his anger? Impatient? And also, fragile hands…? Remember what our main plan is in this fight.”

Thanid arches an eyebrow. He doesn’t need instructions; he already knows what he need to do.

“I can do that,” he says quietly. “I’ll get under his skin, make him bite. And when he throws something big… I make sure something break.”

Moments later, the official’s voice cuts through the air, crisp and authoritative.

“Seconds out!”

Thanid rises from his stool with deliberate slowness. A faint, villainous grin curls across his lips. His eyes lock onto Ryoma’s corner for a heartbeat too long, cold and calculating, the kind of look that suggests he’s enjoying the psychological edge as much as the fight itself.

Across the ring, Ryoma rises from the stool with impatience and irritation still linger on his face, a shadow of the frustration from the first round and the ref’s sloppy timing.

And there’s one more thing fueling his irritation: the bet he struck with Ryohei before stepping into the ring.

“Then why not make this interesting, kid?”

Ryohei taunted him back in the locker room, eyes gleaming with that mix of mischief and challenge.

“Whoever ends their fight in fewer rounds wins. The loser… becomes the winner’s lackey at the gym until the next double-title event. I went seven rounds. Two minutes into round seven. Beat that, or you’re my lackey. Simple.”

And Ryoma, ever drawn to bets and challenges, couldn’t resist accepting.

“Fair enough!”

Now he glances over Thanid, letting the system run its analysis. And the results make him question whether he made the right choice.

***

[Durability Index: Exceptionally High — Reinforced Muscle Density & Core Stabilization]

[Damage Accumulation: Negligible — No visible fatigue or guard degradation]

[Counter-Potential: Limited under current exposure]

***

Ryoma’s eyes flicker briefly to the HUD overlay, the data confirming his suspicion: this fight will not end quickly, not against someone this solid.

A reluctant thought prickles at him, cold and uninvited. “If I want to beat Ryohei in fewer rounds… I might already be losing this bet.”

His fists clench tightly, knuckles pressing against the leather, and for a brief moment, the thought of striking without restraint seeps in.

<< Yes… no need to hold back now. >>

<< In this sport, it’s either you break him, or he breaks you first. >>

<< After all, a few more fractures in those knuckles are still better than spending months as Ryohei’s lackey. >>