Quite frankly, Dante wishes he discovered this lifestyle sooner. Sailing the seven seas, belonging to no one but himself, reaping whatever riches bestow themselves upon him — albeit a couple feet deep in the ocean.

He gets to dock his ship at wherever’s closest, doesn’t matter the nation, and cash in on his goodies. He’s a big fan of the ones that don’t enforce a marginal tax, thank you very much.

Today, within the early morning hours and a thick blanket of fog his only companion, Dante’s ears pick up on a distant, melodic coo. Because a sailor only has so many daily responsibilities, he decides to steer his way towards the source.

Expecting a steady, cushy income from finding treasure is like expecting a cat to bark — which means Dante knows not to get his hopes up. Yet, the closer he gets to the source of the singing, the more he makes out the silhouette of a human girl resting on a rock.

Well, a human from the waist up, at least.

“Looks like we’re gonna need a bigger net.” Dante quips to himself, a sly smile creeping up on his lips.