VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

The entire hall falls silent, still trying to grasp what just happened. Even the commentators are lost for words.

The steady, monotonous rhythm that had ruled the fight for nearly ten minutes has shattered in an instant, so sudden it caught everyone off guard.

Not just Junpei, not just the red corner, but everyone in the arena.

Finally, one commentator finds his voice, though it trembles. "Oh, down! Junpei's down! How… how did it come to this? Did he slip?"

"I'm not sure," the other stammers. "But he looked off balance just before Aramaki seized the opening and hit him with those heavy shots."

"What a turn! After struggling all this time just to get into the fight, Aramaki suddenly breaks through and scores a knockdown!"

"Fluke or not, I don't know… but the real question now is, can Junpei get up from that? He looks hurt, not gonna lie."

Murmurs swell across the hall as Coach Junji shouts from the red corner, trying to rouse his fighter.

"Junpei! Come on! Wake up! I know you can still fight. Steady your breath!"

Junpei isn't out cold. His eyes are clear, though his head spins and his gut burns, the air knocked out of him.

His arms tremble, and his legs feel numb, like that last body shot to the guts drained half his strength.

Aramaki waits in the neutral corner as the referee's count reaches three.

But there's still no movement from Junpei.

"Junpei! Can you hear me? Take your time, and steady your breath!"

But the words don't reach him. Junpei's mind is chaos, replaying the moment, trying to figure out where it went wrong.

Then Junji smacks the apron with a loud slap.

"HEY, JUNPEI!"

The sound cuts through. Junpei flinches, finally focusing. He looks up and the ref's count is already at six.

"Hold on," Junpei mutters, his voice hoarse. "I can still fight."

"Seven!"

"I know, I know… I'm fine."

"Eight!"

Across the ring, Aramaki lowers his head in the neutral corner, silently praying his opponent stays down.

But when he sees Junpei already on both feet, gloves rising, he exhales and steels himself. There's no room for relief now.

"Nine!"

Junpei straightens fully, raises his guard. The referee steps in to check his balance, eyes locked on his pupils.

Aramaki no longer watches, there's no use. He glances at Nakahara, sending an unspoken message: the plan worked, but not the way we hoped.

Still, a quiet gratitude flickers inside him; grateful for joining Nakahara's gym, grateful for Ryoma's countless rounds of sparring.

He failed to capitalize fully on that perfect moment, but Ryoma's words echo in his mind:

"You spar with me now in my rhythm. But Junpei has his own."

"Every technique carries its own rhythm, forged through thousands of hours of drills. And every boxer has their habits, some they know, some they don't."

"And even when they realize it, those habits are the hardest thing to break."

Somehow, it feels almost funny.

For years, he'd believed he lacked talent, that he'd already hit his ceiling, that there was no room left to grow, no way to reinvent his boxing.

But now, even without winning yet, he feels the shift, and the growth, a change he can finally recognize from within.

And the insight Ryoma engraved deep in him, now finally takes its shape:

There's so much more to boxing.

Not just sharpening your skill. Not just hardening your punch. Not just learning the technique.

There's the human side; the mind, the habits, even the crowd itself. All of it shapes how a fight unfolds.

It's up to you; how you read it, how you turn it, how you make it all work in your favor.

The referee finally steps back, giving space, and then chops a hand through the empty air.

"Box!"

The fight resumes.

It's not over yet.

Aramaki steadies his stance, hoping Junpei still hasn't realized his flaw, because if he hasn't, there's still one more opening waiting to be found.

***

Junpei sets his stance and steps off the ropes. Just one step, that's all he gets before Aramaki's already in range.

He relies back on his flickers, sharp lefts snapping out to keep Aramaki away, buying seconds for his legs to come back.

Left after left cuts through the air, quick and precise, flicking from different angles. It taps gloves, taps forearms, breaking Aramaki's rhythm.

It's the same beat that's kept Junpei ahead on points, the same hope that he can hang on until his legs wake up again.

One commentator picks it up. "Junpei's left still alive! Look at that snap!"

"Aramaki can't close the gap," another adds. "Those jabs are stinging him!"

Their voices rise as another flicker lands clean, Junpei's glove smacking against Aramaki's cheek.

"That one finally lands clean."

"Yeah, he still can fight just fine."

But Aramaki adjusts. He starts reading the rhythm, slipping past the jabs, parrying the next. Then, he times the left, blocks it clean, and steps in.

Junpei's breath catches. His instinct fires first. His right cuts the advance with a quick straight.

"Still the same habit."

Aramaki blocks it easily, and this time, already twisting into a hook even before Aramaki steps away.

Junpei drops his left up in time…

BAM!

…blocking the body blow clean.

But his legs are still shaky from the earlier knockdown, and the impact tilts him sideways.

Aramaki's already following, another hook upstairs. Junpei sees it coming, and brings his guard up again, blocking….

Dug!

…but the force drives him deep into the corner.

Aramaki closes in, calm, both gloves tucked tight against his chin, eyes locked forward.

"Junpei's got nowhere to go," one commentator blurts, voice rising over the roar. "For the first time tonight, he's finally trapped in the corner!"

From the apron, Junji yells, "Tighten up, Junpei! Keep that guard tight!"

Aramaki begins his assault, calculated and compact, punches from close range, targeting low, locking Junpei's arms down to protect his body.

***

Gradually, not by strategy but by instinct, and maybe pure circumstance, Junpei slips back into the Philly Shell, the very defense he swore he wouldn't use in this fight.

His rear foot drags on its own, his lead arm tucks hard against his ribs, left shoulder rising to shield his jaw.

The twitching in his face tells enough: he's flinching, wincing, trying not to get hit in the face clean.

And Junji's face goes pale. For a moment, he can't find words. Seeing Junpei fold back into that stance feels like watching him surrender a piece of himself.

And yet, he knows it's the right call. "That's it, Junpei! Stay tight until you come back to me! Don't give him a clean hit!"

Aramaki keeps the pressure, hook after hook, hammering from both sides, pinning Junpei deep in the corner.

No clean hits, sure. But every thud drains Junpei's strength and stamina, each impact shaking his legs, sapping his breath.

His right hand stays tucked under his chin, coiled for a counter. But Aramaki knows that setup, as Ryoma already warned him about it.

So he keeps his barrage tight, and compact. There are absolutely no wild swings, no reach for the head, only steady punishing shots to the body.

Finally, Junpei fires back, releasing that coiled right too soon.

Aramaki hasn't overextended yet, still keeping his punches short and compact.

So when Junpei's glove shoots out, Aramaki sees it coming clear as day.

He just leans back...

Zrff!

The glove cuts through empty air, stopping an inch from his face.

And Aramaki doesn't hesitate, snapping forward, driving a clean shot right over Junpei's outstretched arm.

Dsh!

Junpei's head jerks back, sweat bursting into the lights.

One commentator reacts at once. "A pull counter? Man, why is this guy suddenly full of surprise?"

Fortunately, Junpei stumbles back, catching himself against the corner post before he can drop.

He's in half-sitting position. His legs barely hold him, bent and trembling, weight sinking against the pole.

But Aramaki's still there, ready to punish him even more.