VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 652: He Knew From The Start

Chapter 652: He Knew From The Start

Douglas keeps the hook coming, his hips already committed as the punch barrels forward without adjustment.

Ryoma instantly leans back toward the ropes, his upper body bending just enough as Douglas’s hook slices through empty air in front of him.

The missed hook carries momentum, and Ryoma uses it. He pushes off the ropes and fires a compact right, straight into Douglas’s face.

Dsh!

The impact freezes Douglas in place for a split second, his balance disrupted as his head jerks to the side.

Ryoma pivots smoothly on his lead foot, slipping past Douglas’s line and switching position in one fluid motion, taking control of the center while forcing Douglas backward.

“You talk too much,” Ryoma says calmly, his gloves still up. “But you fight like a blind boar.”

He slides his lead foot forward, his posture suggesting an immediate follow-up, his presence pressing forward with quiet intent.

Douglas takes the bait. He roars and swings a wide right hook with full force.

“Shut the hell up!!!”

Ryoma simply pulls his lead foot back at the last instant, his upper body shifting just out of range as the punch misses completely.

The opening appears instantly, and…

Dsh! Dsh!

…another sharp one-two lands straight into Douglas’s face, snapping his head back again with precise timing.

This time, Ryoma doesn’t stop. He shifts his weight to the left and dips slightly, his body coiling before releasing a tight, powerful hook straight into Douglas’s liver.

BAM!!!

The sound is heavier, deeper, the kind that echoes through the body rather than the air.

Douglas’s entire frame jolts as the punch lands, his muscles seizing instantly as the pain explodes through his side.

His knees buckle, his stance collapsing as his breath gets trapped, his chest tightening as if the air has been ripped out of him.

His mouth opens, but no breath comes in, only a strained, broken gasp that fails to fill his lungs. Despite that, he swings a desperate left hook, his movement sloppy and unbalanced, driven more by instinct than control.

Ryoma leans his head back with ease, the punch passing harmlessly in front of his face. In the same motion, he shifts his stance, bringing his right foot forward as his hips rotate sharply.

His right glove crashes into Douglas’s ribs with a crushing hook.

BUGH!!!

The impact folds Douglas instantly, his body dropping to one knee as a pained groan escapes him, his hand clutching his ribs.

“Ahack!”

“Archie… help… my ribs…”

Ryoma lowers both gloves, his expression showing clear disappointment as he turns his back and walks away without urgency.

“You can’t even last one round,” Ryoma says flatly.

Douglas doesn’t answer, his body trembling as he struggles to breathe, each inhale shallow and uneven as pain keeps tightening around his ribs.

Archie steps closer from the apron, crouching slightly as he leans in toward Douglas, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

“Well?” Archie asks. “You still want to continue?”

“Damn it…” Douglas mutters between strained breaths. “I admit it… he’s better than I thought… way better.”

Archie raises an eyebrow slightly. “Is that so?”

“Try him yourself,” Douglas replies weakly. “Then you’ll understand what I’m dealing with.”

Another groan escapes him as his grip tightens around his side. “My ribs… I hope he didn’t break them.”

Archie studies him for a moment, concern flickering across his face as he considers the possibility that the damage is more serious than it looks.

He knows Douglas is not a trained boxer, and even with his size, his body is not conditioned to take clean shots from a professional.

“So?” Archie asks again. “Can you keep going?”

Before Douglas can answer, Ryoma’s voice cuts in from across the ring.

“Why don’t you take his place?” Ryoma says, his tone calm but challenging. “Even if he stands up again, his level is too far below to be useful.”

Only then does Douglas speak again, his voice strained. “Get him back for me…”

“Oh, sure…” Ryoma says casually. “Can’t handle it, so you call your big brother? Well, I’m fine with that.”

Archie lifts an eyebrow, a faint smile forming as satisfaction settles in, because this outcome has been part of his plan from the start.

“Get out, Douglas,” Archie says as he turns toward his bag. “I’ll handle him.”

Ryoma’s posture shifts immediately, his energy rising as he begins to shadowbox lightly, his movements sharper, more focused than before.

Douglas drags himself toward the ropes, his hand still clutching his ribs as he rolls onto the apron and slowly lowers himself out of the ring.

He stumbles toward the bench with unsteady steps, his legs weak, his breathing still uneven and strained.

Archie glances at him briefly, and the condition alone tells him enough about how dangerous Ryoma truly is.

He then kneels by his bag and opens it, reaching inside with deliberate calm. His fingers brush against cold metal, a Glock resting inside.

For a brief moment, his fingers linger on the gun before shifting away, settling instead on something else. He slips the object onto his right hand discreetly, adjusting it carefully before pulling the boxing glove over it.

His movements remain casual, almost routine, as he tightens the glove and stands, stepping toward the ring.

Meanwhile, Ryoma continues shadowboxing, fully focused, completely unaware of what Archie has just done.

***

Archie steps up onto the apron and grips the top rope, his movement smooth and unhurried as he slips through the gap and enters the ring.

He rolls his shoulders once, loosening his frame, then raises his gloves and begins to shadowbox lightly.

His first jab snaps out clean and fast, followed immediately by a second, then a sharp cross that cuts straight through the air with precision.

Shssh-shssh… Shssh!!!

He dips slightly to the left, his knees bending just enough to shift his weight, then rises back up into position without breaking rhythm.

Two more jabs follow, crisp and controlled, and another cross drives forward behind them, each punch carried by a steady, controlled breath.

Shssh-shssh… Shssh!!!

The sound of his exhale cuts sharply through the space, six precise bursts of breath that reach Ryoma clearly even from a short distance.

Ryoma’s eyes shift toward him, his guard still up, his body still moving, but his focus now fully drawn to the man in front of him.

From that alone, from the rhythm, the balance, the sound, he can already tell the difference. This one is not like the previous opponent.

<< Look at those hands… >>

<< Sharp, and precise… >>

Outside the ring, Aramaki notices it too, his expression tightening slightly before he steps closer and leans in toward Ryoma.

“Doesn’t look like an amateur,” Aramaki mutters under his breath.

“Yeah… seems that way,” Ryoma replies, his tone calm but interested as his eyes stay locked on Archie.

“There’s a certain explosiveness there,” he continues. “That looseness, that snap in his movement… you see it often with black fighters.”

He glances briefly toward Aramaki. “You want to take him? Could be a good test before Serrano.”

Aramaki frowns immediately, his expression showing clear disinterest as he shakes his head. “He’s way bigger than me. Bigger than you too. You sure you’re going to be okay?”

His voice lowers slightly. “You should stop this before something goes wrong. You might lose your belt to Dante Vilanueva if you get hurt here.”

Ryoma lets out a quiet breath, his shoulders relaxed. “Yeah… I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what they’re aiming for,” he says casually.

Aramaki blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”

“From the start,” Ryoma says, his gaze still fixed ahead, “I found it strange they were here this early, in a place like this.”

He shifts his stance slightly, his gloves still moving in small motions. “I figured they were sent by someone.”

“And you’re still playing along with them?” Aramaki presses.

This time, Ryoma doesn’t answer. He simply turns his attention fully back to Archie, his expression flattening into something colder, more focused.

He already knows these two have no good intentions, and he intends to make them pay, and if the chance comes, drag the truth out of them afterward.

What he doesn’t realize yet is what Archie has hidden beneath the glove on his right hand, and that one Glock inside his bag.