The street Calle de Huertas in central Madrid is always bustling. Seated at an outdoor bar, engrossed in a notebook behind metal-rimmed glasses, he remained unfazed by the lively atmosphere around him. His neatly styled hair was tousled by the night breeze, carrying the scent of dampness, wood, and herbs from nearby establishments. In his serene nook amidst the bustling crowd, he appeared both familiar and enigmatic, as enigmatic and deep as Madrid's never-ending night sky.