VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

October 15, 2018.

A black Mercedes rolls beneath the gray October sky and pulls up along the arrivals curb at Heathrow, its tires hissing softly over the rain-slick pavement.

A light drizzle still hangs in the air as Elliot Graves remains in the passenger seat, casually adjusting his hair while Martin Hargreaves watches the terminal through the windshield.

"I still think this is a mistake, Elliot."

Not saying anything, Elliot simply checks his reflection in the rearview mirror and fixes a strand of hair that was barely out of place.

Martin sighs and glances behind them, noticing a dark minibus pulling up directly behind their car.

"We've already arranged everything for Ryoma's arrival," Martin says. "There's no reason for you to be here."

Elliot finally lowers his hand. "Can't I welcome them personally? They were very good to me when I was in Japan."

Martin glances at him. "You can welcome them at the gym, Elliot. Or visit their hotel if you really want to. But if you show up here, you're going to attract the media."

"Good," Elliot says, reaching for his sunglasses. "Could help sell some tickets."

He puts them on, opens the door, and steps out of the Mercedes with the effortless confidence of a newly crowned WBC world champion.

"So where are all the reporters?"

He starts walking, scanning the arrivals area until he spots a sizeable crowd ahead, with cameras raised and reporters shouting questions at someone surrounded by microphones.

Elliot slows down, tilting his head from one side to the other, trying to find a clear view through the narrow gaps between shoulders and camera equipment.

He shifts left, then right, craning his neck with the peculiar concentration of a rooster pecking around for food until he finally catches sight of the person at the center of the crowd.

It's Ryoma, accompanied by Nakahara and Hiroshi, while Hayakawa's security team surrounds them and keeps the reporters at a careful distance.

"Well, looks like you don't need to help sell the tickets after all," Martin says, standing beside him.

"Looks that way," Elliot says, adjusting his sunglasses and starting toward the crowd.

He makes his way into the crowd, squeezing between shoulders and camera equipment as he searches for an opening.

His attempts to get through are polite enough at first, but the sheer number of people forces him to become increasingly assertive, occasionally nudging someone aside.

"Excuse me. Coming thought."

"Hey, watch it."

"Sorry."

Another person turns around after Elliot brushes against him.

"Jesus, man."

Elliot glances back. "Excuse me."

The man looks ready to complain again, but then his eyes settle on Elliot's face. His expression changes.

"Wait… Elliot Graves?"

The first man turns toward Elliot, suddenly looking rather embarrassed.

"Oh. Sorry, champ."

Elliot gives him a small nod and continues through the crowd. By then, the recognition has already begun spreading.

"Oi, Elliot is here!"

"Elliot! Elliot! Over here!"

"Elliot, are you here to welcome Ryoma?"

"Can we get a comment, Elliot?"

Elliot ignores the reporters for the moment, keeping his attention on Ryoma as he works his way through the remaining gap between them.

"Ryoma!"

A smile appears on Ryoma's face, though his exhausted expression and slightly unfocused eyes make it clear that the long flight and jet lag have already taken their toll.

"Elliot. Good to see you."

Elliot gives Ryoma a firm handshake before briefly clasping his shoulder.

"Welcome to London. How was the trip?"

"Long," Ryoma says with a tired smile. "But my body still thinks it's in Japan."

Elliot laughs. "That bad?"

"Pretty bad."

"Then let's get you out of here."

Elliot turns toward the reporters who are still pressing closer and raises a hand.

"Alright, guys. Give him some room."

The reporters continue calling questions, but Elliot casually guides Ryoma and his group toward the minibus already waiting for them.

"Alright, lads. Give him some room. The man's knackered. You'll get your questions later."

By the time Elliot finishes loading Ryoma's bag, the reporters have already closed the gap again, microphones extending toward them from every direction.

"Ryoma, just one question!"

"Ryoma, please, give us a minute!"

"Can we get a statement for the London fans?"

"Just one comment before you leave!"

Elliot straightens and immediately raises a hand. "Alright, lads. I said give him some room. He's just got off a long flight."

"Just one statement, Elliot!"

"Give the man a break."

"Ryoma, please. Just something for your fans here."

Elliot turns toward Ryoma. "Don't worry about them. Get inside."

But Ryoma remains quiet for a moment, looking at the reporters gathered around them. For some reason known only to him, even the October rain seems to be getting on his nerves.

Then he gives a small sigh. "It's alright, Elliot. Just one statement."

Elliot looks at him, then reluctantly steps aside. Ryoma faces the cameras, his expression still tired from the journey.

"Well, since it's almost 2019, to everyone out there, please take care of yourselves. Don't catch a cold."

A few reporters exchange puzzled looks, unsure whether Ryoma is making a joke or genuinely warning them about the weather.

Ryoma continues. "And remember, even the rain can kill you. Don't take it lightly."

He gives a small nod and turns toward the minibus, leaving the reporters, Elliot, and Martin staring after him in collective confusion.

The minibus pulls away from the curb, followed shortly by Elliot's Mercedes, leaving the reporters behind with more questions than answers.

"What the hell was that?"

"Did he just say the rain can kill you? Did I hear that right?"

Someone lets out a small, awkward laugh. "Maybe he's practicing his English. You know, a lot of Japanese people aren't exactly fluent with English."

"What are you talking about? This isn't his first time in London."

"Yeah, and he's given plenty of interviews in English."

"Then what was that about? The rain can kill you? What the hell was he trying to say?"

"Beats me."

Another reporter shrugs. "Probably just a gimmick to grab attention and start another trending topic."

***

Inside the minibus, Nakahara barely understands Ryoma's statement, while Hiroshi, whose English listening is not much better, only caught something about the rain and thinks nothing of it.

Hayakawa and his security team, however, understand every word. For now, they assume Ryoma is simply joking about London's terrible weather. But that assumption begins to change once they arrive at the hotel.

In the next two days, several things begin to catch their attention. Ryoma becomes unusually strict about health and hygiene, insisting that everyone get enough rest, asking Hiroshi to adjust the group's meals to include more nutritious food, and requiring anyone leaving the hotel to wear a mask.

There is nothing inherently wrong with any of those precautions. The problem is the intensity with which Ryoma reacts whenever one of them is ignored.

Just like tonight, Ryoma is berating one of Hayakawa's men, and it is not the first time he has done so over the same issue.

"Do I have to remind you again? You wear your mask every time you leave your room!"

"I'm sorry, Ryoma-san," the man says, lowering his head.

He sounds apologetic, but the irritation on his face is harder to hide. Being scolded this harshly over such a trivial matter is beginning to feel excessive.

"You already apologized yesterday," Ryoma snaps. "You apologized again this morning. And now you're doing the same thing all over again. If you don't want to follow my protocols, just say so. I'll buy you a ticket home right now."

The other members of Hayakawa's team exchange uneasy glances. None of them says anything, but the confusion and irritation on their faces are difficult to miss.

Unlike the man being reprimanded, they have followed Ryoma's protocols without complaint. As professionals, they understand that a client is entitled to make reasonable requests, even unusual ones.

Still, this feels different. During their previous assignment escorting Ryoma to London several months earlier, he had never behaved like this.

Hayakawa notices the unease spreading among his men and finally steps forward, deciding that someone needs to address the matter.

"Ryoma, allow me to apologize for my man," he begins. "But if I may ask, what exactly is the urgency behind all these protocols? From what I've observed since we left the airport, you seem almost paranoid about the weather in this country."

Ryoma does not answer immediately. He has a perfectly good reason for all of this, but there is no way he can explain it honestly.

"Hayakawa-san has a point, Ryoma," Hiroshi cuts in. "Honestly, you have been acting a little strange lately. If this is really important, at least help us understand why these protocols matter so much."

Nakahara exhales, trying to defuse the situation. "I don't think he needs to explain anything. We're in London, after all, a place famous for miserable weather. If you watch football, you'll often see players wiping their noses right there on the pitch. But Ryoma can't do that in the ring if the same thing happens to him during a fight."

Ryoma, feeling unexpectedly rescued by Nakahara's explanation, immediately takes advantage of the opening it gives him.

"Exactly," Ryoma says. "I'm sorry if I seem a little paranoid, Hayakawa-san. But this is my first title defense. I can't afford to overlook things like this. Even something minor can affect my performance in the ring."

He then turns toward the man he has been reprimanding. "And I can see that some of you are deliberately ignoring these protocols because you think they're trivial. I'm not angry simply because you broke the rules. I'm angry because of the lack of respect you're showing me."

Hayakawa remains silent for a moment before finally giving a small nod.

"Understood."

Then he turns toward his men. "You guys, I think Ryoma-san has made himself clear enough. So from now on, anyone who breaks the rules can pack their bags and go straight back to Japan. Understood?"

"Understood!" they answer in unison.

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