D’Artagnan jerked awake, covered in a freezing cold sweat, the coverings falling off his shirtless form. He immediately leaned forward, placing his head on his knees. “Dammit...” he muttered to himself. “How the hell did it turn out like this?” “SSSIIIDDD!!!” came the voice of the green-haired pirate boy who was lounging lazily on the deck of his ship, the Shooting Star, “how long till the next island?” The blue-haired navigator walked out on deck, checking the Log Pose he had continuously strapped to his wrist. “Hmm...” he looked up at the sky now, “within an hour or so, actually.” “Hey!” “No.”