VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA - Chapter 671: Driven Back Anyway

Chapter 671: Driven Back Anyway

Kenta steps forward as the round resumes, moving out from his corner without hesitation this time. There is no visible urgency in him, no attempt to force anything early. Instead, his movement settles into something slower, more measured.

His feet begin to shift; a pendulum step, simple and steady, his weight transferring back and forth in a controlled rhythm.

His hands stay high, swaying lazily at chest level. His posture is relaxed, but his focus is no longer scattered. He does not think about combinations, or openings, or counters.

He just moves, and swaying lazily to build his own rhythm. And for a brief moment, it catches Dela Cruz’s attention.

From ringside, the change draws immediate attention.

“…That’s new. Moriyama coming out with a pendulum step to start the round.”

“Yeah, slowing it down right away. He’s not engaging, just trying to establish a rhythm first.”

“Interesting choice. We didn’t see this from him in the first round.”

“Let’s see if he can actually build something off it.”

The champion doesn’t rush in immediately this time. His steps slow just slightly as he watches, reading the rhythm in front of him, the subtle sway of Kenta’s weight, the timing of his feet.

There is a hint of interest in his expression.

“So he finally uses that rhythm…”

But it doesn’t last long. Dela Cruz steps in without hesitation, closing the distance behind a sharp jab, and then his lead shoulder rolling into a tight hook that follows right after.

The jab meets Kenta’s right hand, which shifts slightly forward to absorb it.

Dp.

And when the hook comes, Kenta is already stepping back, his right arm tightened inward, angling just enough to ease the impact off as the hook glances across his guard rather than crashing through it.

Zrf.

Both punches meet his guard, but this time the impact doesn’t settle cleanly. The angle of his arms and the subtle sway of his movement take the edge off, letting the force slide and disperse instead of driving straight through him, leaving his stance intact and undisturbed.

From the blue corner, Kurogane is already leaning forward slightly with a subtle shift in his expression, something closer to recognition than surprise.

“Oh… that’s already messing with him,” he mutters, just loud enough for Nakahara to hear. “Just going back to that pendulum is enough to take the edge off his aggression.”

Nakahara, however, doesn’t share the same reaction. His gaze remains fixed, steady, reading deeper into the exchange rather than the surface of it.

“The Soviet rhythm does work best for stealing an opponent’s tempo,” he says calmly, his tone measured, almost dismissive of the early effect. “But it’s too early to get worked up.”

Back in the ring, Kenta doesn’t stay in place. He shifts to the side, a small lateral step, just enough to change the angle without breaking his pendulum rhythm.

Dela Cruz follows immediately. He adjusts his feet and steps in a bit deeper, firing a sharp one-two down the center.

The jab snaps forward first, but Kenta’s hands move with it, both gloves swaying slightly forward as they catch the shot clean.

Dp.

The right hand comes right behind it, heavier, tighter. And this time, Kenta doesn’t try to meet it directly. He steps back again, pulling both hands inward toward his chest as the punch drives into his guard.

Dug.

The force is still there, but it doesn’t break him. His stance holds, his feet already preparing to move again as the energy disperses through his frame.

Dela Cruz’s brow tightens slightly. There is a faint crease forming now from dissatisfaction. The response he expects isn’t there. The impact doesn’t translate the way it did in the first round.

But there is still no hesitation in him. Kenta is not the first fighter he has faced who relies on movement like this.

“In the end… it’s just a way to avoid a direct confrontation, am I right?”

He presses forward again, not rushing, but closing the space step by step, his feet cutting off angles instead of chasing them.

His positioning becomes more deliberate now, guiding Kenta’s movement rather than reacting to it. He stills throws sharp punches, and Kenta still manages to ease the collision by keeping his pendulum movement.

But each strike from the champion narrows the available space. He doesn’t force Kenta into a corner yet, but steering him, gradually, toward the edges of the ring, where the room to move begins to shrink, where that pendulum rhythm will have less space to breathe.

“Moriyama’s trying to take the lead in tempo here,” the lead commentator says, following the movement. “He’s not standing still anymore.”

“But Dela Cruz isn’t slowing down at all,” the second cuts in immediately. “He’s still throwing, still pressing.”

Inside the ring, the punches keep coming in tight rhythm, even as Kenta absorbs and deflects them through movement.

“He’s not letting him settle into it,” the lead continues. “Every time Moriyama tries to build that rhythm, Dela Cruz is right there breaking into it.”

“And look at the space,” the second adds, voice rising slightly. “He’s not chasing him… he’s driving him back. Every exchange, every step, pushing him closer to the ropes.”

“That’s the danger,” the lead says. “You can try to ease the pressure… But if he keeps forcing you backward like this, you’re still fighting his fight.”

Kenta recognize the shift, and moves on instinct. Without breaking the lazy sway of his pendulum rhythm, he steps in and finally lets his hands go.

A double lead hook comes first, both thrown with a relaxed motion as his weight drifts forward, followed by a short right hook, then a jab as he eases himself back out.

Dug. Dug. Dp. Dug.

“Oh… there we go,” the lead commentator reacts. “Moriyama starting to put something together here.”

The same cadence repeats, and again, the first two hooks land lightly on the upper arm.

Dug. Dug.

The right hook only brushes against the champion’s guard with a faint touch.

Dp.

The jab follows, as a check, pressing against Dela Cruz’s right glove just enough to hold it in place.

Dug.

For a split second, it stalls the moment, preventing the champion from throwing anything.

“He’s building it step by step!”

“Nothing rushed, just using that rhythm to create a small opening.”

And suddenly, Kenta steps in harder this time, committing his weight into a straight right, driving it forward with far more intent than the previous sequence.

DUGH.

The impact forces Dela Cruz to tighten his guard.

And a short left hook snaps out immediately after, tighter, sharper, slipping around the edge of the guard and landing clean against the cheek.

Dsh!

“That landed!” the lead commentator cuts in. “Left hook got through!”

It’s brief, but it’s real. And Kenta moves, shifting laterally right after, trying to slip away from the ropes while the moment is still his.

But the space doesn’t open the way he expects.

Dela Cruz reacts fast, steps in at the same time, suddenly, deeply, closing the distance in a single motion. His right shoulder drives forward, colliding into Kenta’s guard.

“Dela Cruz is right back on him!”

“No space given, no reset. He shuts it down immediately!”

From that tight position, a strike comes without delay, and a compact right hook buries into the body.

BUGH!

“Oh, that’s a hard body shot!”

“Perfect answer from Dela Cruz. The moment Moriyama gets something going, he punishes him for it.”

Kenta’s expression tightens as the shot lands, the impact folding slightly into his frame.

“He’s good… too good.”

It’s not just the force, but the timing of it, the way the champion reads the moment and answers immediately from a defensive position.

Before Kenta can disengage, Dela Cruz’s left hand catches onto his upper arm, and then shoves him to the side.

Kenta is driven back into the ropes again. With a simple pivot off the lead foot, Dela Cruz shifts his angle, stepping across just enough to seal the space.

The ring shrinks once more. This time, Kenta finds himself already quite close to the corner.

“This is dangerous now,” the lead commentator says, his tone tightening. “He’s got him near the corner…”

“And he’s unloading!” the second cuts in as Dela Cruz bursts forward again, hands firing in tight, compact sequence.

Inside the ring, the punches come fast.

Straight. Direct. Relentless.

Dug. Dsh! Dug.

Kenta moves his head and torso, his guard angling wide to deflect the punches, shoulders rolling to take the edge off.

But…

Dsh!

“One gets in!” the lead reacts instantly.

Kenta adjusts again, shifting, tightening, but another one slips past the guard.

Dsh!

“He’s breaking through now!”

Kenta tries to turn with it, arms adjusting, stepping along the edge of the corner, but another punch finds him.

Dsh!

And another.

Dsh!

“This is what we were talking about!” the lead says, urgency building. “There’s just no room here!”

“He can’t get away!” the second adds. “Dela Cruz is all over him!”

The space collapses completely as the combination continues to stack, the rhythm no longer something Kenta can settle into, but something he’s being forced to endure.

What am I even doing…?

I slowed it down… I tried to take the rhythm away…

…and I’m still right back here.