Second Guessed

Prologue

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—"