VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 651: A Calculated Reaction

Chapter 651: A Calculated Reaction

Ryoma turns his head toward the outside of the ring, his eyes briefly scanning for the bell, realizing they still need someone to keep time for the round.

Before he can call out, Aramaki steps in from the side, already approaching the corner with the headgear Ryoma left earlier, his expression set with quiet urgency.

“Hey, Ryoma… come here first.”

Ryoma raises an eyebrow and glances across the ring, where Douglas stands in his own corner, leaning in slightly as he speaks with his friend, their low voices carrying the tone of planning.

Ryoma exhales lightly, then turns back and walks toward his corner, stopping close to the ropes where Aramaki stands on the apron, holding out the headgear.

“I just want to remind you,” Aramaki says, his voice low but firm, “if something happens, Coach Nakahara won’t just be mad at you, he’ll be mad at me too for letting this happen.”

He then lifts the headgear slightly. “Put this on.”

Ryoma glances again toward Douglas, who is still bareheaded, still confident, showing no intention of using any protection at all. Then he looks back at Aramaki and shrugs, his shoulders rising lazily.

“Nope… my pride says no.”

“Forget your pride,” Aramaki shoots back immediately, his tone sharpening. “The match is close. If something goes wrong, there won’t be enough time to recover.”

Ryoma rolls his neck once, then looks back toward the other corner again, his gaze settling on Douglas.

“Relax, I’ll be fine,” Ryoma says. “I can already tell, that guy can’t box.”

Aramaki frowns, clearly unconvinced. “Then what’s the point of sparring him?”

Ryoma lets out a short breath, and a small, knowing smile forms at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s very important,” he replies. “Now go, and take care of the bell for me.”

Aramaki exhales hard through his nose, frustration visible for a brief second, but he doesn’t argue further as he steps away and walks toward the bell.

He glances at the wall clock, waiting, his eyes tracking the second hand as it moves steadily upward.

The moment it reaches twelve, he strikes the bell.

Ding!

“Three minutes. One round,” Aramaki calls out. “You better end it quick.”

Ryoma steps out of the corner immediately, his feet sliding across the canvas as he moves to take the center of the ring, his guard rising naturally into position.

Across from him, Douglas doesn’t wait. He pushes off his corner the instant the bell rings, his feet driving him forward aggressively as he closes the distance with no hesitation at all.

“Don’t worry, I’ll finish this quick,” he bellows.

Ryoma’s eyes narrow slightly as he watches him approach, his body still relaxed, his stance light, ready to adjust.

Douglas throws the first jab fast and hard, his shoulder snapping forward as his fist cuts through the air toward Ryoma’s face.

Ryoma lifts his left hand and deflects it outward with a short motion, his feet staying planted, choosing not to give up ground.

Douglas steps in deeper right away, firing a straight right behind it, his hips rotating fully as he commits more weight into the punch.

Ryoma tilts his upper body just enough, letting the punch skim past his cheek, while his right hand brushes against Douglas’s arm, quietly reading the impact.

Douglas grunts and keeps pressing, swinging a left hook toward the body, trying to break through Ryoma’s guard with pressure.

Ryoma drops his elbow and blocks it tight against his side, allowing the force to connect partially instead of slipping away entirely.

The impact lands with a dull thud, but Ryoma’s stance remains solid, his feet gripping the canvas as his eyes stay calm and focused at close range.

Inside his head, the system speaks with quiet detachment.

<< He is far below your level >>

<< He’s too obsessed with inflicting damage, careless about his own defense >>

“Yeah… I can tell this is a setup. Either to injure me, or to check my conditioning.”

“Let’s find out how far he can push me.”

***

Douglas increases the pace, his punches starting to come in combinations now, jab, cross, hook, thrown in quick succession with growing aggression.

Yet Ryoma responds with minimal movement, his gloves shifting just enough to parry and deflect, occasionally rolling his head slightly to let the more dangerous shots pass.

He stays within range on purpose, letting the gloves touch his guard, measuring the weight, the speed, and the way Douglas’s power travels through each strike.

His feet move only in small adjustments, a slight step to the side, a subtle pivot, just enough to maintain balance without escaping the pressure.

Douglas keeps attacking, but none of his punches land clean, and frustration begins to creep into his expression as his breathing grows heavier with each exchange.

“Stop running away, kid,” Douglas shouts, his voice edged with irritation as he keeps pressing forward. “Come here and fight me.”

But Ryoma simply keeps his distance with small, controlled steps, his face blank. His breathing stays steady, and his eyes locked on Douglas without a hint of agitation.

Outside the ring, Archie watches closely from the apron, his gaze fixed on Ryoma’s expression as he tries to read whether the provocation has taken hold.

He expects to see anger, or at least impatience, something that suggests Ryoma has been pulled into Douglas’s pace and emotion.

Instead, Ryoma looks cold, almost detached, his eyes sharp and observant as they track every movement, every shift in Douglas’s shoulders and hips.

Archie narrows his eyes slightly as that realization begins to settle in, a quiet doubt forming beneath his initial assumption.

“This kid… is he plotting something?”

He starts to wonder if Ryoma’s earlier reaction, the irritation, the near outburst, was nothing more than an act, something deliberate rather than genuine.

The more he watches, the more it feels intentional, as if Ryoma allowed himself to look provoked just enough to step into this ring on his own terms.

***

More than thirty seconds pass without a single punch from Ryoma, and Douglas still fails to land anything clean despite throwing nonstop combinations.

Douglas grits his teeth and steps in harder, cutting off the angle as he drives Ryoma back toward the ropes, shrinking the space and forcing a tighter exchange.

“You can’t run forever, kid…” Douglas bellows as he closes in, his right shoulder already loading for another body shot.

He steps deeper and swings a right hook toward the body, aiming to pin Ryoma in place and stop his movement.

But in that exact moment…

Dsh! Dsh!

A lightning-fast one-two snaps Douglas’s head back, the punches landing clean and sharp before he can even react.

Douglas’s eyes widen as his head jerks from the impact, his balance faltering for a split second as the shock runs through him.

Damn… that was fast.

His thoughts stumble in that brief moment, a flicker of doubt cutting through his earlier arrogance as a realization begins to surface.

A faint sense of regret creeps in, as he starts to question whether provoking Ryoma like this was a mistake.

So this is the OPBF champion…

Across the ring, Archie’s gaze sharpens immediately, his posture still but attentive as he watches every detail unfold from just outside the ropes.

He says nothing, but his focus narrows, studying Ryoma not as a spectator, but as someone measuring exactly what kind of opponent stands in front of him.