Mike pushed through the door of Stanislav's diner, instantly enveloped by the usual rich aromas of butter and slow-cooked meat. But something soured the familiar comfort—a current of tension hanging in the air. Stanislav and Magda greeted him with smiles that looked painted on, their eyes darting nervously toward the corner. There sat three men with military-grade buzz cuts and muscled frames that strained against their t-shirts. Tattoos crawled from their sleeves up their thick necks. Their harsh Eastern European Russian bounced off the walls like scattered gravel.

"Hey, old man," the leader barked in fractured English, "I said, money or I shove this plate down your fucking throat." He thrust forward a dinner plate containing a small bloody chunk of meat beside a jagged shard of glass.


Stanislav wrung his weathered hands. "Please, gentlemen, this is impossible. My kitchen would never—"

Classic shakedown.

Mike set his briefcase down and approached. With a reassuring nod to the elderly couple, he turned to face the three men, his voice measured and professional. "I'm Mr. Thornfield, legal counsel for this establishment. If you believe you've experienced damages, we can certainly address your concerns through proper channels."


The ringleader sized Mike up like a punchline before erupting into laughter. "A lawyer? I fucking love lawyers." He rose to his full height—towering over Mike—and jabbed a sausage-thick finger into his chest. "You paper-pushing cowards. What can you do besides talk and wave documents around?"

CRACK!


The thug's open palm connected with Mike's cheek, the sound sharp as a whip. The restaurant froze in collective shock. Magda's stifled gasp punctuated the silence.

"Let me educate you, counselor," the man leaned in, his vodka-soaked breath hot against Mike's face. "Even if cops come now, I get what—two days in jail? I know your legal system better than you. And when I'm out?" His lips curled into a cruel smile. "I burn this shithole to ground. Let's see if your fancy law degree can put out those flames."

For one heartbeat, Mike's mind went perfectly white. A decade of combat training had hardwired his reflexes to respond to threats with immediate, devastating force. But he held himself in check, muscles coiled tight as springs. Graystone's voice cut through the fog: "A knight's greatest strength is restraint." The final lesson, delivered with unflinching eye contact that had burned itself into Mike's memory.

Restraint wasn't weakness. Restraint was precision.

Mike's legal mind kicked into overdrive. Michigan Penal Code Section 780.972. Castle Doctrine parameters. Reasonable force thresholds. Precedents from People v. Riddle. A thousand legal calculations processed in milliseconds.

He drew a measured breath, lifted his gaze, and allowed himself the faintest professional smile. Then he moved.

One fluid step backward evaded the thug's predictable follow-up punch. In the same motion, Mike's right hand snatched a dinner fork from the table. Rather than stabbing, he struck with surgical precision—the fork's blunt edge hammering the pressure point at the man's wrist. A howl of pain erupted as the thug's fingers splayed open involuntarily. Without pausing, Mike's left hand swept up a butter knife, its dull edge finding the nerve cluster at the elbow joint with perfect accuracy. The entire arm went dead, hanging useless at the man's side.

The other two thugs launched themselves forward with animal growls. Mike didn't back away—he stepped into the storm.

Ten seconds later, three mountain-sized men writhed on the linoleum floor. Their injuries defied explanation—crippling pain without a drop of blood spilled or a single visible wound.

Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. Mike adjusted his tie and smoothed his jacket, then delicately placed the cutlery back on the table with the precise alignment of a formal dinner setting.

Officers burst through the door, weapons drawn at the chaotic scene before them.

Mike raised his hands slowly, meeting the officers' eyes with courtroom composure:

"Officers, I've just exercised my right to self-defense as provided under Michigan state law, Section 780.972."