VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The referee spreads both arms as he steps in front of Ryoma.

"Down! Neutral corner!"

But Ryoma doesn't move. He simply stands over the fallen veteran, looking down at his victim with an unwavering gaze.

His Vision Grid quietly activates. It takes only a brief glance for the assessment to become clear.

Liam's eyes struggle to focus. His breathing comes in shallow uneven gasps. His arms and legs lie heavy against the canvas, refusing to answer him, while the lingering disorientation leaves his body slow to obey even the simplest command.

After seeing enough, Ryoma instinctively raises his right fist high above his head. At that exact instant, camera flashes erupt from every direction, capturing the moment.

The arena is engulfed by a relentless storm of white light as photographers race to immortalize the image of Ryoma Takeda standing over the fallen opponent.

There is no roar or exaggerated celebration, yet it carries the weight of everything he has endured to reach this moment; every adjustment, every gamble, every terrifying exchange he had forced himself to confront.

Then the referee throws another glance at Ryoma before raising his voice more firmly.

"Ryoma! Neutral corner. Now!"

Only then does Ryoma turn away, walking toward the neutral corner without once looking back.

Behind him, the referee resumes the count.

"Four!"

"Five!"

A stir finally comes from the canvas. Liam plants both gloves against the mat and strains to push himself upright.

"He's trying to get up!"

"Can the veteran beat the count?!"

Ryoma turns and watches, his Vision Grid continues assessing Liam's body. The constant stream of updates leaves little room for doubt.

At the count of seven, Liam braces both feet against the canvas and tries to stand. Instead of driving his body upward, however, the push sends him pitching forward.

His balance is nowhere to be found, and he collapses straight back onto the canvas before he can even rise.

The referee stops the count, and then waves both arms above his head.

"That's enough! The fight is over!"

Yoyogi Gymnasium explodes. A thunderous roar engulfs the entire arena as thousands of spectators leap to their feet, fists pumping into the air while countless Cruel King Army flags begin waving wildly across the stands.

The blue corner erupts just as violently. They flood into the ring at full speed, sprinting straight toward Ryoma with smiles, shouts, and raised fists, unable to contain their excitement any longer.

"IT'S OVER!"

"RYOMA TAKEDA HAS DONE IT!"

"HE STOPS THE CANADIAN VETERAN IN THE FIFTH ROUND!"

"WHAT A REMARKABLE TURNAROUND!"

"HE SURVIVED THE DEMPSEY ROLL... AND CAME BACK TO FINISH THE FIGHT!"

"RYOMA TAKEDA HAS JUST BECOME THE MANDATORY CHALLENGER FOR MIGUEL CABELLO'S WBO WORLD TITLE!"

***

Amid the deafening celebration, not everyone is swept away by the emotion. Scattered among the ringside seats, a handful of veteran journalists remain remarkably composed.

Their eyes stay fixed on the ring, notebooks already filling with hurried observations as they begin dissecting the tactical brilliance that produced it.

A few rows from the VIP section, Tanaka slowly lowers his pen, still struggling to make sense of what he has just witnessed.

"I honestly don't understand how he did that," he says. "It isn't him copying Dempsey Roll that surprises me. It's the fact that he suddenly stopped it in the middle of that huge swing."

Sato nods. "Once your body is committed to a swing like that, you're fighting your own inertia as much as your opponent. Stopping it instantly shouldn't be possible."

Tanaka lets out a quiet breath and shakes his head. "No matter how I look at it... it simply doesn't make sense."

But then, the giant screen above the ring begins replaying the sequence. It shows Ryoma's subtle slips and compact rolling rhythm as he pressures Liam's guard.

The movement is gradually widening until it unmistakably resembles the opening rhythm of the Dempsey Roll.

"There it is," the lead commentator says. "Ryoma starts rolling just like Liam did moments earlier. The rhythm, the posture... it all looks like the beginning of another Dempsey Roll."

"And here comes the counter," the analyst says. "Liam doesn't wait. He throws first. Then... Ryoma suddenly stops. That's the part I still can't explain. You don't just kill that kind of momentum in the middle of an exchange..."

Then his voice trails off. He leans forward, eyes narrowing at the giant screen.

"Wait… Wait a second."

He raises a hand toward the production booth.

"Can we run that replay again?"

The replay immediately rolls again, this time at a noticeably slower speed, drawing the attention of the entire arena.

The celebration fades into the background as thousands of eyes return to the giant screen. Like everyone else, they have been convinced Ryoma was attempting to imitate Liam's Dempsey Roll, just as he had copied so many of his opponents' signature weapons before.

But the slower replay tells a different story. Ryoma's movement remains nothing more than a series of ordinary slips and rolls.

Then, at the final roll to his right, he quietly switches stance, rear foot stepping far outside, widening his base as he settles into southpaw.

"There," the analyst says, pointing at the screen. "That's not a Dempsey Roll. Ryoma is simply switching stance while riding a normal roll. The wider base and the change of angle create the illusion that he's building a Dempsey Roll."

He pauses as the replay reaches the moment Liam throws the counter. "It fooled Liam O'Connell into believing the momentum was coming. And the moment he committed to countering it... Ryoma stops, and then punished him with a Gazelle Punch."

"So... it was a trap?" the lead commentator asks, still staring at the replay.

The analyst nods. "Yeah. And he didn't just fool Liam O'Connell. He fooled all of us into believing he was about to copy the Dempsey Roll."

The lead commentator shakes his head in disbelief. "Man... that's just nasty."

"And the Gazelle Punch itself is another story," the analyst continues. "An orthodox fighter normally launches a Gazelle Punch off the lead foot, driving in with the left hand. Ryoma did the exact opposite. He exploded off the right side and threw it with his right hand."

"No wonder Liam never saw it coming."

"He couldn't have. Honestly, I don't think anyone in this arena did."

Tanaka and Sato look away from the giant screen, still trying to process what they have just witnessed.

"Man..." Tanaka exhales with a disbelieving laugh. "He actually fooled all of us."

Sato slowly nods. "That's an incredibly layered psychological trap. Ryoma must have realized Liam had studied him as The Chameleon, a fighter obsessed with stealing his opponents' signature weapons. So he turned that reputation into the bait itself."

Tanaka's smile grows. "And he didn't just fool Liam. I don't know if you noticed, but even Nakahara panicked back there. The old man really thought Ryoma was about to attempt a Dempsey Roll. He knew how suicidal that would be against a counter."

Sato blinks in surprise. "Wait... are you saying this wasn't something they prepared before the fight?"

Tanaka slowly shakes his head. "It doesn't look that way. I think Ryoma came up with that idea right there in the middle of the fight."

***

On the VIP row, Miguel Cabello's jaw tightens as the irritation plain across his face. He had been just as convinced as everyone else that Ryoma was building a Dempsey Roll.

He was even expecting Ryoma to get countered so badly in that moment, only to learn it had been nothing more than an elaborate deception designed to bait the counter.

But before the frustration can linger any longer, the ring announcer's voice steals his attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, referee Howard Foster stops the contest at two minutes and twenty-three seconds of Round Five!"

"The winner by knockout... and now the official mandatory challenger for the WBO World Championship..."

"RYOMA... 'THE CHAMELEON'… TAKEDAAAAAA!!"

Another deafening roar erupts from every corner of the arena.

Ryoma accepts the microphone from the ring announcer and waits for the cheers to settle before speaking.

"First of all... thank you for the support."

The crowd answers with another wave of applause.

"I've carried the OPBF and WBO Asia Pacific titles with pride. Both belts have helped me grow into the fighter standing here today. But starting today, I'll be relinquishing both championships."

A murmur spreads through the arena. The journalists, however, seem to understand immediately. A mandatory challenger is expected to vacate regional titles sooner or later.

"I don't want to keep belts that I can no longer defend properly," Ryoma continues. "Those titles deserve active champions, so it's time for the other fighters to fight for them. From this point on... I'll only be chasing one belt."

He slowly walks toward the side of the ring closest to where Miguel Cabello sits. Ryoma gazes down upon him, and the WBO champion meets the stare without flinching.

"Miguel…" Ryoma begins. "Enjoy being the WBO champion while you still can, because it won't be yours for much longer. No one can stop me now. The next time we meet… that belt becomes mine."

Miguel's expression turns deathly serious, yet his gaze never leaves Ryoma's for even a second.

Outwardly, he refuses to give Ryoma the satisfaction of seeing even the slightest doubt. His chin remains high, his stare unwavering, accepting the challenge with all the confidence expected of a reigning world champion.

But beneath that pride, something has undeniably changed. The arrogant kid he had dismissed before the fight no longer exists.

Miguel Cabello no longer sees Ryoma Takeda as a loudmouth chasing his spotlight. He sees a real threat, seeing a man capable of taking the belt from him.