A/N: Okay. Let's get this out there: I trust that you all are smart enough to know I don't own One Piece or any of the characters or arcs except my own. Maven is my character. I will not repeat this, because I don't think it is necessary. Also! The disease Maven has is made up. It might sound like a disease that actually exists, but all similarities are coincidental. This disease will obey the logic of One Piece— that is to say, very little at all. Expect little to no medical accuracy. Thank you! This is my first One Piece fanfic, and my first fic here on Fanfic net. I have stories up on AO3 if you want to check those out, but that's up to you. Thanks for reading!

Chapter warnings: Disease and death mentions.

I had always had a problem with my health, but lately it seemed like the universe suddenly hated me and decided to make it far worse than it had ever been. I had been stuck in my empty house, cars gone as my parents had been out shopping and my phone at the other end of the house who-knows-where as I was on the floor of my bedroom gasping for breath. I don't know what had set it off, but an asthma attack had gripped me and my inhaler decided to finally conk out, completely empty. I had spent so much energy trying to get it to work that I no longer had any left to wobble and grab my phone, not that I had the air to speak into it in the first place, or the clear vision to properly text.

And then I woke up in a tiny body. Suffocating to death because of your own body's overcompensation in your lungs was a hard goddamned blow to take, it was an absolutely horrible death. Not only was it painful, it had been avoidable. Completely avoidable. If I had refilled my medicine on time, if I had kept my phone near me, if I had just fucking stayed calm instead of wasting oxygen and energy panicking, I likely would have been fine.

But no. I ended up reincarnated, in the helpless body of an infant with my memories intact for some strange reason. Maybe it was my punishment for dying in such a pitiful way, never being able to forget it. Still barely twenty and mooching off my parents, too, with not a single major success to my name. Pitiful.

And maybe that was why, when I was one year old and trying to walk next to my twin brother, I was hit with another curveball. A deep man's voice, one I vaguely recognized but couldn't tell why just yet, spoke with the rough voice of the barbaric woman in charge of raising my brother and I.

"What do you mean, she's dying?!" The male's voice rang out. "She's got her father's blood in 'er, she won't die when her life hasn't even really started yet!"

An unfamiliar voice sounded. I figured it was the doctor they had inspect me earlier, apparently I was showing some signs of illness. I was still too young in my new body to be aware enough of it or the world around me to tell what the problem was. Even having an adult brain inside a toddler's body wasn't enough to return my full awareness or control over myself. Even things like potty training were still, to my shame, necessary for me to focus on learning. But spying? I could still do that.

I lifted my chubby body up, taking shaky steps closer to the door as my weak legs trembled under me. I wanted to hear.

"M-m-mr Garp, there isn't anything I can do. The disease is already spreading at the slowest rate I have ever seen, it should have crippled her already at the least. The fact that she is able to walk is a miracle already," the doctor's voice meekly reported, growing stronger after the initial stutter as the doctor gained confidence in her findings. "The disease will eat at her muscle mass. It starts with the extremities— fingers, arms, and such. It will reach her brain and heart eventually. There is no known cure," the doctor continued. "I'm sorry, Mr. Garp. Your granddaughter has a terminal illness, I give her three more years to live. Even then, she'll spend at the least the last year paralyzed. The time could be shorter or longer, however," the last part came out hesitantly, as if the doctor wanted to reassure my grandfather without giving false hope. "The exact amount of time it takes relies on her willpower. But she's only one so—"

My grandfather's deep laugh echoed suddenly, but my adult mind registered the fear hidden in the tone of it. He was worried. "If it's based on willpower, then she'll live to be eighty! No, a hundred and eighty!" He bellowed. His words made me lose my balance, falling onto my diaper-padded butt. I was only one year old, how could he think I had enough willpower to prove the doctor's diagnosis wrong? He was crazy! A crazy old man! I didn't have enough willpower to even keep breathing for an extra half hour in my old life, how would I live past the doctor's prediction?! But he continued.

"Willpower is one thing our family has in spades! Maven will be alright," he was splendid at hiding the tremor in his voice as he said my name. "She'll live. And I'll train her! The more muscle she builds, the longer it will take for the disease to kill her, right? That's fine then! I was going to make her into a strong marine anyway!" His laughter boomed again. Dadan, the barbarian who was raising my brother Ace and I, spoke up softly. It was a tone I had never heard her use before.

"Garp," she said softly. "I don't doubt your monster genes. But even if she lives another ten years, what will happen? I don't want to listen to that brat Ace cry over his sister. Not when we know she's not going to live as long as him."

Gramps was silent for a long moment. "She needs to build up muscle fast anyway," he said slowly. "I'll take her with me to the marine base. My superiors will understand when I explain. Ace won't remember her when he gets older, not if we keep them apart right away. Just to be safe, in case she does…" Gramps didn't finish that thought, but it didn't need to be voiced to be understood. "We won't tell him he has a sister. Don't mention Maven around him. We'll introduce them again when they're older, if Maven starts to recover."

"Sir, it's a terminal illness! The survival rate is zero, she won't rec—"

"MAVEN WON'T DIE BECAUSE OF A LACK OF WILL!" Gramps shouted back at her.

I stayed seated near the door, looking down at my chubby hands. I flexed them, feeling the weakness in my child fingers. I wasn't blind or deaf, I knew what world I had fallen into. Perhaps if I had been born as anyone else's child, I wouldn't have known for a while. But it didn't take long for me to find out, not with Gramps and his recognizable face and name visiting every now and then. Not with Dadan and the bandits and their loud mouths, constantly bringing up exactly who Ace and I were the children of. Not with Ace and his unmistakable face, even as a toddler. Not with the size of the animals I would glimpse out in the forest on the mountain. Not with my memories of my past life as a huge, unfulfilled anime nerd.

I clenched my tiny fists as tightly as I could. Perhaps I would have lost hope in my last life, where things usually turned out for the worst and expectations or dreams were hardly fulfilled. In this world, logic had no place. In this world, potential had no bounds. So I allowed myself a tiny sliver of hope that I would survive. Whatever brought me back to life might have second guessed it's choice and decided to kill me again, but I would not go quietly. I would not let myself die pitifully again.

My tiny head swerved so I could look at my twin, who had climbed a kitchen counter to steal some food from the pantry. I might not be able to keep the disease from killing me, but in that moment my life's dream came to life. I would live until I was able to die the best death in the world. A worthy death, a badass death, a death I could be proud of. Even if it meant dying to save somebody else. I would make sure that, once I was returned to the pitch darkness of death, I could look back on my death in this world and smile. No more pitiful endings.

The heavy wood door slamming full force into my head made be groan. I felt like that badass promise I had just made myself was already crumbling. This was just too much. I was going to die because my stupid grandfather slammed open the door too hard. It was death-by-door. Humiliating! I could feel the blood dripping down my face as I instinctively let out a loud, sharp wall of pain that then caused Ace to slip from his perch on the counter and fall on the ground with a hunk of meat in his hands.

He couldn't even eat meat on the bone yet, the idiot.

"AHH! MAVEN! DON'T DIE, GRAMPS IS HERE!" I could feel the old man's callused hands pick me up with more care than I thought it was possible for the guy to muster up. I was dwarfed in his giant hands, but I felt safe when I stared into his grizzled face and soft eyes filled with worry and kindness.

"Yowa… fawlt… gweezah…" I mumbled through my clumsy toddler lips. His hands stilled. The doctor, not sensing the danger, gently prodded my head before taking out what I figured was a roll of bandages.

"It's just a cut. Really, being hit that hard she should have gotten much worse. I have no idea how she's so resilient. She'll just need a bandage, mr. Garp." She ignored Ace's soft sobs. She probably already knew he was only bruised from his fall.

"Her…" Gramps muttered, hands shaking. "HER FIRST WORDS ARE 'YOUR FAULT, GEEZER?!'" He yelled in indignation. He shook my body in his hands, obviously struggling to keep his grip loose and his shakes controlled so he didn't actually hurt my frail body. "YOU ARE BARELY ABLE TO WALK, HOW CAN YOU ALREADY BE SO DISRESPECTFUL YOU BRAT?!"

Ace was definitely not hurt that badly, because I could hear the little asshole chuckling softly from the general direction of the kitchen behind me. Only a year old and already laughing at my expense. Jerk.

"MR. GARP! She's just a sick and injured toddler! Don't hurt her even more! You're gonna kill her at this rate!"

When Gramps finally calmed down enough to stop shaking me, he let the doctor clean and bandage my cut before he settled me in the crook of his arm. "Oy, Dadan. Grab the brat's stuff and put it in a bag for me."

"I'm not your—"

"DO IT NOW!"

"Of course Garp!" The large woman scrambled off to gather up the small amount of things she used to care for me. The term 'care' being used very loosely. I was met with Gramps' grizzled old face again as he turned me so I was looking into his soft eyes once more.

"We'll bulk you up, kid. You'll be the strongest girl in the world, you'll live until you're old and wrinkled and still sinking pirate ships with one hand, and you'll prove to the world that not even death can kill you. You'll be an Admiral! No, Fleet Admiral! Strike fear into the hearts of criminals everywhere!" I could still feel the slight, hidden tremor in his large fingers. "You'll live, kid. You'll live."

I let myself lean into his hold, closing my eyes as I silently agreed with him. I'd live. Maybe not until I was old and grey, but long enough.