VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Cabello's eyebrow twitches ever so slightly. Ever since stepping into the building, he has been met with indifference, ignored by the people in the gym, and now shown the door before a single word of negotiation can even begin.

Genuine irritation flickers across his face, yet it never once occurs to him that he has shown his hosts even less respect.

At least, Rivera knows full well the real issue here.

"Hey, Miguel..."

But Cabello only lets out a long, weary sigh. He makes no effort to move, his legs remaining stretched across the coffee table toward Nakahara.

"I'm a world champion," he says flatly, "flew thousands of miles just to offer millions of dollars to some arrogant kid who doesn't know how lucky he is. We haven't even recovered from the jet lag yet. And now he's lecturing me about manners just because I wanted to rest my feet?"

Then he scoffs in disbelief. "Give me a break."

"Then rest at your hotel," Ryoma replies coldly. "Or are you too broke to afford one now that Hugo Ramirez isn't paying your bills anymore?"

Cabello's jaw tightens, visibly struggling to keep himself in check despite his legs remaining on the table.

Rivera immediately rises from his seat. "Please… We came here straight from the airport. We didn't even stop by the hotel because we wanted to get this settled as soon as possible."

Ryoma falls silent for a moment, considering the explanation. It still does little to justify the pair of feet stretched toward Nakahara across the coffee table.

But out of the respect he still has for Rivera, he gives the trainer a bit of room to talk. "Fair enough. You wanted to make this quick, then make it quick. Name your offer."

Rivera draws a slow breath. Under ordinary circumstances, he would've started lower and worked his way up little by little. That's how negotiations were supposed to work.

But with Ryoma still standing by the open door, making it painfully clear that every second was borrowed time, Rivera knows there won't be a second chance to revise his offer.

"Three million dollars guaranteed," he says. "And 25 % of the gate. We will bring the fight to Las Vegas. You already proved you can sell in Japan. Now imagine doing the same in the fight capital of the world. Win or lose, stepping into that ring changes the way this industry looks at you. You won't just be Japan's golden boy anymore. You'll become a global star."

Ryoma smiles faintly. "That's your opening offer?"

Rivera swallows hard. "You wanted this settled quickly. So I started with the best offer I can make."

Ryoma lets out a quiet chuckle. "I didn't expect you to be this broke. Or is this simply how little you value me?"

He tilts his head ever so slightly. "A golden boy from Japan? Even if I never set foot in Las Vegas... I'm already a global star."

Then he finally lets go of the doorknob, taking a step forward, slightly lifting a hand toward Cabello. "Why don't we do it the other way around? I'll pay your champion five million dollars. Fifty percent of the gate. We bring the fight to Tokyo Dome."

Cabello's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. For all his irritation at hearing Ryoma casually call himself a global star, he can't deny the reality behind those words.

Five million dollars is already an enormous purse. But now his mind already drifts to Tokyo Dome, fifty-five thousand seats. A sold-out stadium no longer feels impossible, and half of that gate flowing into his own bank account.

The interest in Cabello's face is so palpable that Rivera can almost see the calculation happening behind his eyes. Even without realizing it, Cabello slowly lowers his feet from the coffee table.

But that brief temptation is exactly what Rivera fears. They are in no position to entertain Ryoma's proposal. Bringing this fight to Las Vegas isn't a negotiating point. It's a requirement.

Just as Cabello turns toward Ryoma, his mouth already beginning to open, Rivera speaks first.

"I'm sorry," he says firmly. "We can't accept that."

Cabello immediately falls silent. The greed that had briefly lit up his face fades into quiet bitterness, leaving nothing but frustration behind.

"Why?" Ryoma asks. "I just offered you something considerably better than yours, and you still turned it down. Why?"

The question lands far heavier than Rivera expects. From a business standpoint, there isn't a single convincing reason he can think of to reject Ryoma's proposal. Yet revealing the real reason is even less of an option. All he can do is remain silent.

What Rivera forgets, however, is that he isn't dealing with an ordinary twenty-two-year-old. He's standing before a fighter who has built his career on reading people under pressure. Against someone like Ryoma, silence can be every bit as revealing as an answer.

"I know why," Ryoma says quietly. "This stopped being about the value of one fight a long time ago. It's about controlling the entire business surrounding the world championship. I know Hugo Ramirez never truly stood alone. He wasn't the only promoter with an interest in stopping my rise."

Ryoma pauses briefly, taking a step forward. "They want this fight in Las Vegas. And if they insist on Las Vegas despite everything I've offered... then the fight itself probably isn't what they're after. They don't intend to let me make it into the ring."

Rivera's face drains of color. The promoter who contacted him never said anything remotely like that. Yet the moment Ryoma lays out the pieces one after another, Rivera finds himself unable to dismiss the conclusion. Disturbingly, it all makes sense.

"Mr. Rivera," Ryoma continues, "I don't know whether you're involved in this or not. But I've nearly lost my life twice already. You could offer me ten million dollars, and I still wouldn't get on a plane to Las Vegas."

Rivera remains silent. His eyes stay fixed on the floor, unable to offer either an argument or a denial.

That alone tells Ryoma enough. Rivera isn't part of whatever is waiting ahead, but still bound by them.

"Then there's no point dragging this out," he says. "Let's end it here and settle it through the purse bid."

Before Rivera can respond, Cabello abruptly rises from the sofa.

"That's it," he mutters. "We leave."

He walks straight toward the door, brushing past Ryoma without sparing him so much as a glance.

Rivera lingers behind for a brief moment. Turning toward Nakahara, he lowers his head politely.

"Thank you for your time."

He then follows after Cabello. However, just as he reaches the doorway, he stops and speaks with restrained voice.

"By taking this to a purse bid... you've just given them more room to interfere."

And then he turns to Ryoma, exhales slowly before giving a nod. "Yes... there are others besides Ramirez. And when the purse bid comes, don't expect them to bid against one another. They'll stand on the same side."

His expression turns grim. "At least now... you'll have a clearer picture of what you're really facing. I wish you a good luck."

Rivera gives Ryoma one last nod before quietly leaving the office. And the room falls silent once again.

Nakahara looks from the closed door to Ryoma, wearing a thoroughly puzzled expression. Throughout the entire conversation, the two men had spoken almost exclusively in English, leaving him able to grasp only scattered pieces.

"So, kid..." Nakahara says as he walks over. "What's the outcome? Are they willing to fight here?"

Ryoma doesn't answer immediately. His expression remains unusually serious, his mind still weighing the implications of everything that has just unfolded.

Toyama, who is still standing near the door, quietly swallows. Unlike Nakahara, he has understood every word of the discussion, and only now does the full weight of it begin to sink in.

"They want to settle this through the purse bid," Toyama says. "And... Mr. Rivera just warned us that there are dangerous people who'll interfere."

Nakahara slowly lets out a weary sigh. "So... Logan was telling the truth after all."

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