At the exact same time that Matt Murdock was clutching his chest in stunned silence, Robert was doing the same—pale-faced and struggling to keep his breath steady.
This was the first time he'd used bullet time so frequently in one sitting, and his heart was now pounding in a rhythm not unlike Beethoven's Symphony of Fate—but played at death metal speed.
For any normal person, this level of cardiac abuse would've sent their soul straight to the afterlife, humming the finale on the way up.
Even with Robert's Self-Healing Ability, this was too much.
But despite the pain, Robert gritted his teeth, shot Matt a smug grin, and thought to himself:
You wanna eavesdrop? Enjoy the concert.
If I don't leave you with a psychological scar, then my heart hasn't worked hard enough.
Meanwhile, Foggy Nelson just sat there, utterly lost.
Something about the cool breeze tonight… made him feel like he was just an NPC in someone else's storyline.
Across the table, he watched in confusion as Robert and Matt silently clutched their chests, eyes fixed on each other, their faces pale like they'd just returned from the underworld.
What is going on here?
Weren't they just… eating dinner?
Foggy looked from Robert to Matt, utterly baffled.
And then the worst part hit him:
"Wait… Matt's blind."
How are they making eye contact?!
Just as the Symphony of Destiny was hitting its crescendo, Matt finally broke.
He forcibly shut off his enhanced senses, giving up on reading Robert altogether.
The man's heartbeat was chaotic, like jazz played with power tools.
It was overwhelming his own internal rhythm. His own heart had begun to sync up.
With forced calm, Matt offered a weak smile and said, "Hi, I'm Matt Murdock."
Robert released his bullet time with a sigh of relief. The pain in his chest eased, and he grinned back. "Robert. Nice to meet you, Attorney Murdock."
To anyone watching—say, Foggy—it looked like two heart patients bonding over a shared diagnosis.
Sensing the tension lifting, Foggy decided to jump in. "If you ever need legal help, our office is over on 46th Street, West Midtown."
Robert raised an eyebrow. "Hell's Kitchen?"
Foggy's smile twitched. "We usually say West Midtown. Bit more marketable, y'know?"
Hell's Kitchen didn't exactly scream safe and professional. Still, Robert nodded, amused.
He took a sip of water, then leaned forward.
"Actually… speaking of legal help, there's something that's puzzled me for years."
Foggy perked up. "Hit me."
Matt, ever the perceptive one, asked first, "What's the question?"
Robert straightened, face serious. "Okay, so here's the scenario...
There's a super popular burger joint. Let's call it... Krabby something. Across the street, there's a struggling fast-food chain. Business is bad. Real bad. So the fast-food guy keeps trying to steal the burger recipe from the popular joint."
Matt tilted his head.
Robert continued, "Every time he tries, the burger joint owner and his overly enthusiastic fry cook chase him out. This happens a lot. The fast-food guy starts claiming emotional distress from the repeated failures. So here's my question...
Are the burger shop owner and the cook breaking any laws?"
Foggy blinked.
Matt, meanwhile, considered the situation seriously. "No laws are being broken. The actions of the burger joint owner and his employee are justified—they're protecting their intellectual property and private business. The fast-food owner, on the other hand, is committing burglary. The victim has every right to defend their establishment. They could even press charges."
Robert nodded, satisfied. "I see. In that case, I'd like to thank you on behalf of the burger shop owner."
Foggy stared at him, eyes narrowing.
"Wait a minute... Are you talking about the Krusty Krab? Is the burger guy... Plankton?"
Matt, still unaware, looked confused. "Do you know this place?"
Foggy gave him a long look. "Matt... you really need to watch more TV. That restaurant isn't real. It's a cartoon. SpongeBob SquarePants? Ring any bells?"
Matt: "...Oh."
Robert clapped, grinning ear to ear. "As expected of Attorney Murdock! Solving a childhood mystery I've carried for years!"
Matt resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. He'd just given a serious legal interpretation of a cartoon feud.
This guy... is dangerous.
Before they could protest, Robert raised his hand. "As thanks for your wisdom, this dinner's on me."
He waved a waiter over. "Charge their bill to me. And get the check when you can."
"Right away, sir."
Foggy lifted his drink. "Generous and eccentric? Robert, I like your style."
Matt hesitated, then sighed and followed suit. "Thanks. For dinner."
Robert raised his water glass in return. "You're both welcome. I may come knocking with more legal riddles, so I'll be counting on Attorneys Nelson and Murdock."
Connections matter, Robert thought. And it never hurts to have Hell's Kitchen's blind monk/jungle god on your side.
Foggy leaned in, chatting more eagerly now, especially once Robert brought up pop culture and natural disasters. Somehow the conversation went from SpongeBob to tectonic shifts along the Pacific Ring of Fire.
Robert, ever the improviser, answered every question with confidence—whether he understood or not.
Matt sat in silence, shoulders slumped.
The wind outside turned colder.
Why does it feel like I'm the third wheel at my own dinner?
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