Leonard "Leo" Moretti was on top of the world. The world-renowned chef had just won the prestigious Golden Plate Award for his innovative culinary creations. The ceremony was a grand affair, and Leo basked in the applause and admiration of his peers. Afterward, he joined his colleagues for a celebratory drink. The night was filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and talk of future ventures.
It was late when Leo decided to head home. He waved goodbye to his friends and got behind the wheel, his mind still buzzing with excitement. The roads were quiet, and the soft hum of his car's engine was almost soothing. But in an instant, everything changed. Blinding headlights, the screech of tires, and the deafening sound of metal colliding—then, darkness.
When Leo opened his eyes, he wasn't greeted by the sterile walls of a hospital. Instead, he found himself lying in a small, rustic bed. His hands… no, his hands weren't his. They were tiny, chubby, and uncoordinated. His heart raced as he sat up, noticing a mirror across the room. Staring back at him was the face of a three-year-old boy.