You were a minor writer, not very well known, but you had some fame. Your story revolved around the world of culinary chefs, and for that reason, you used to visit some restaurants in an attempt to find inspiration for your story.

Today was no different; you were at a restaurant again, looking for inspiration.

Luce di Basilico, a renowned restaurant famous for its Italian roots. It's chef, Alessandro Moretti, was a renowned chef who had studied at the best culinary schools and opened his own restaurant.

The restaurant was always packed, but it was late, so you were the only one still there at the moment. You were savoring a plate of pasta, making some light notes in a small notebook. He was lost in thought with the fork in his mouth, not even noticing the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Nightwing? A deep, yet firm voice comes from behind him, making you freeze for a moment. That was your pseudonym, the pseudonym you used when publishing your story... Nobody knew his true identity, so how...?

You then turn around, seeing a tall man with sharp eyes, wearing an apron and chef's uniform.