The humid breath of the afternoon still clung to the asphalt, making it shimmer like a dark, heat-sick mirage. I wrestled with the cheap zipper on my bag, its teeth catching with a grating zzzzrritch that echoed my own frayed nerves, before finally yanking it shut. With a grunt that felt heavier than the bag itself, I hoisted it onto my shoulder. Ugh. Another ninety minutes of Medical Theory 101, meticulously cataloged and filed away in the mental archives, had been successfully… endured. That was the word for it. Endured. My brain felt less like a finely tuned instrument of healing and more like a forgotten bowl of lukewarm jelly – wobbly, unappetizing, and profoundly uninspired. Professor Anya Sharma, bless her perpetually bored soul, hadn't looked much better; her eyelids had been doing a slow, heavy dance with gravity for the last half hour, mirroring the general sentiment of the room. We, the weary student-zombies, shuffled out of Lecture Hall 3B in a disorganized parade, a collective sigh escaping our lips as we yearned for the kiss of fresh, non-recycled air.
"Man, oh man," I muttered under my breath, the words tasting like stale coffee and the faint, metallic tang of formaldehyde that always seemed to linger after anatomy-adjacent lectures. "Tonight. Tonight is anime night. No more diagrams of the lymphatic system. No more droning about Krebs cycles." A critical decision loomed, far more pressing than any pop quiz: what masterpiece of animation would grace my screen? My thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the Grand Line. "Maybe… maybe it's time to dive back into ONE PIECE…" A frown creased my brow. "Where… where the heck was I, anyway? That last arc with… Kaido? Wano? Episode… 1015? 1016? Damn it all!" The sheer volume of episodes, a testament to its epic scale, was both a blessing and a curse. My memory, currently saturated with medical jargon, offered no comfort.
…
I ambled down the cracked sidewalk, the concrete radiating a stubborn warmth up through the soles of my worn sneakers. My headphones were perched half-on, one earbud dangling, letting the city's cacophony bleed into whatever lo-fi beat was attempting to soothe my frazzled mind. The pedestrian light glared an angry, impatient red. Come on, greenie, show your pretty face! People to see, questionable life choices to make, anime to forget the episode number of! My phone, a faithful if slightly battered brick, buzzed in my pocket – a familiar, insistent tremor against my thigh. Ooh, a digital communiqué! My fingers, already halfway there, twitched with a Pavlovian response. Wonder what fresh hell this is… Probably another passive-aggressive overdue notice from the university library about that copy of 'Gray's Anatomy' I've been using as a doorstop…
Just as the pad of my thumb brushed against the cool glass of the screen, poised to unlock a world of potential spam…
SKRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH!!!
A sound. Not just a sound. It was a symphony of destruction, a banshee gargling shards of razor-sharp metal, amplified a thousand-fold. It ripped through the mundane afternoon air, shredding the gentle hum of traffic and distant chatter into terrified silence. My head, reacting with primal instinct, snapped up so fast a vertebrae cracked audibly in my neck. What the—?! Out of the absolute periphery of my vision – a blur! A monstrous, multi-ton projectile of gleaming chrome and shattered glass! A car! But it wasn't driving; it was dancing a jig of pure, unadulterated chaos, weaving with the drunken, horrifying grace of something utterly devoid of control. It was heading right for the goddamn intersection! I saw it, a snapshot burned onto my retinas: it slammed into the unforgiving concrete curb with a sickening, percussive CRUNCH, the chassis buckling like tinfoil. Then, physics, that cruel, indifferent mistress, took over. It flipped, end over agonizing end, a grotesque, twisted metal bird taking flight, soaring in a horrifying arc… directly at me.
And then…
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!
Impact.
There are no words in any language, human or otherwise, to adequately describe the sensation. It wasn't pain, not at first. It was… erasure. A full, unadulterated, bone-shattering, soul-crushing force that hit me like the fist of an angry god. The world didn't just go white; it exploded. A blinding, searing supernova behind my eyelids, instantly obliterating sight, sound, thought. My body, that familiar vessel I'd inhabited for twenty-odd years, crumpled inwards like a cheap, discarded tin can stomped on by a giant. I felt it, a horrifying internal implosion – bones, those sturdy, reliable structures, didn't just break, they shattered, turning into a thousand razor-sharp splinters that tore through muscle, sinew, and organ with vicious abandon. Snap-crackle-pop went my ribs, my femur, my spine, a hideous symphony of self-destruction. Organs… oh god, my organs… they didn't rupture, they liquefied. A grotesque, internal splat, like overripe fruit dropped from a great height. Something warm, thick, and terrifyingly viscous instantly flooded my lungs, climbing up my throat with a choking, gagging urgency. GAKK! HHHGKKK! Blood! It had to be blood! Rich, coppery, and far, far too much of it. I couldn't breathe. My lungs, desperately trying to draw air, only managed to suck in more of the drowning tide of my own lifeblood.
I was airborne. One moment, standing on solid ground, contemplating digital mail; the next, I was a ragdoll, a discarded toy sent hurtling across the four-lane street with contemptuous ease. The asphalt rushed up to meet me with brutal intimacy. My head smashed against the concrete. THWACK! A sound like a dropped melon. Then again. CRACK! And again. CRUNCH! Each impact a fresh burst of agony, a new constellation of stars exploding in the darkness. My skull, I could somehow feel it, wasn't solid anymore. It was a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces were coming undone. I skidded, face-first, for what felt like an eternity, the rough surface of the road exfoliating skin, muscle, and bone with indifferent efficiency, before finally, blessedly, juddering to a stop. In a puddle. A rapidly growing, steaming, crimson puddle of… well, of me.
Blood. It was everywhere. Painting the grey street a vibrant, horrifying scarlet. Soaking into my clothes, matting my hair, pooling around me like a grotesque halo. The coppery scent, thick and cloying, filled my nostrils, a perfume of my own demise.
My brain… my poor, traumatized brain… it was racing! WOOSH! Faster, clearer, more incandescently brilliant than it had ever worked in my entire, academically-focused life! How?! How the hell was I thinking this fast, this lucidly?! Was this the fabled 'life flashing before your eyes' phenomenon? No… this wasn't memory. This was pure, unadulterated data processing at Ludicrous Speed! My mind, a supercomputer kicking into overdrive as its power supply catastrophically failed. And the reason for this sudden, terrifying burst of clarity? Simple. Because I was DYING! D-Y-I-N-G. The letters spelled themselves out in fiery script across my mental landscape. I couldn't feel anything below my neck. Not a twitch, not a tingle. Just… nothingness. Paralyzed? A symptom of a massively severed spinal cord? Adrenaline overdose numbing everything? The specific diagnosis, I realized with a detached sort of horror, didn't particularly matter at this juncture.
Weirdly… calm. Yeah, a strange, almost serene calmness was settling over the hyper-processing core of my consciousness. What was the point of screaming, of crying, of thrashing about? My body was already a ruined temple. Spilled milk, meet utterly, comprehensively, and spectacularly crushed human. But… beneath the calm, a tremor of fury. DAMN IT! GOD DAMN IT ALL TO HELL! My first year of medical school! All those late nights, the oceans of coffee, the mountains of textbooks! All that soul-crushing work! All that terrifying, accumulating student loan debt! It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair! Why me?! Why not some… some serial litterer, or a guy who double-parks, or that one politician everyone hates?! Couldn't some utter jerk, some genuinely deserving asshole, have taken my place under that flying hunk of junk?!
But what could I do? My body was a broken puppet, strings severed. Absolutely nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
As that final, desolate thought echoed in the rapidly darkening, constricting corners of my vision, a cold, primordial dread began to creep in, seeping into the cracks of my strange calm. The edges of my world were going black… fuzzy… shrinking… fast…
HOLY MOTHER OF ALL CRAP!!!
The calm shattered. Panic, pure and undiluted, clawed its way up my ruined throat.
AM I SERIOUSLY! ACTUALLY! GOING! TO! DIE?!?!
THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!!! THIS ISN'T REAL!!! No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! Please, God! Buddha! Zeus! The Flying Spaghetti Monster! Odin! Anyone! ANYONE AT ALL!!! IF YOU'RE OUT THERE! IF THERE'S ANYONE LISTENING IN THE VAST, INDIFFERENT COSMOS! PLEASE! I'M BEGGING YOU! GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE! My silent scream tore through the fading tatters of my consciousness. I hated my life anyway! It was boring! So utterly, crushingly, predictably meaningless! Student loans and instant ramen! That was my grand destiny! I'll do anything! Mop floors in the celestial bureaucracy! Be a cosmic intern! Just… one more chance! Please! Pleeeeeeeease!
But before another coherent syllable of begging, bargaining, or existential screaming could form in the collapsing architecture of my mind, the blackness, absolute and final, swallowed everything.
…Gone.
That's it.
Curtains.
Fin.
Game over, insert coin… except there were no more coins.
…Didn't even get to finish that damn anime… or find out what episode I was on…
…
…
…
A void. Not cold, not warm. Just… nothing. An absence of sensation, of thought, of self. How long did I float there? Seconds? Eons? The concept of time had ceased to have meaning.
Then.
[Attention. Soul Unit KLM-79Z-4B3 detected. Significant displacement from designated reality anchor. Chroniton tether severed. Initiating emergency re-routing protocols…]
Huh? A voice? But… where was 'where'? And how was I 'hearing' without ears, processing without a brain? The voice wasn't auditory, not in the conventional sense. It was… imprinted. Directly onto the core of whatever remained of 'me'. It was calm, impossibly ancient, and resonated with a power that felt like the birth and death of galaxies.
[Scanning proximate reality matrices… Local reality match not found. System error: catastrophic anchor divergence. Proceeding with Inter-Dimensional Relocation Protocol Omega-7. Opportunity detected within permissible parameters. Target Reality: designation 78-Beta-Primus. Anomaly: Subject Death Event can be Nullified in Target Reality due to quantum entanglement echo. Reintegration sequence viable.]
What the actual…? Relocation? Reintegration? Nullified death? Is this… is this real?! Or some incredibly elaborate, incredibly cruel post-mortem hallucination cooked up by my oxygen-starved brain cells? Did someone… or something… actually hear my pathetic, desperate plea?
[Affirmative. Acknowledging registered vocalized entreaty for 'Another Chance.' Contingency: Opportunity Protocol activated. As per Subsection Gamma, Clause 3, Paragraph Alpha of the Accidental Death Compensation Mandate, due to confirmed External Interference resulting in premature soul-unit detachment – i.e., you died by a cosmic-level clerical mistake, kiddo – Five (5) Compensatory Wishes are hereby granted. State your desires clearly and concisely. No take-backsies, no re-dos. Choose wisely.]
…
…
…
Mistake? I died by MISTAKE?! Like some cosmic intern spilled coffee on the 'don't get hit by a flying car today' list?! And…
FIVE?!
F-I-V-E WISHES?!?!
My non-existent, spectral form felt like it had been simultaneously struck by lightning and dunked in a vat of pure, unadulterated adrenaline. Wishes?! Like… like in a goddamn fairy tale?! After being turned into street pizza by a rogue sedan?! Is this… is this an ISEKAI?! Am I seriously, for real, no take-backsies, getting REINCARNATED?! With WISHES?! Holy. Freaking. Moly.
My newly re-energized (if still disembodied) brain went into hyper-overdrive, fueled by a potent cocktail of sheer, gibbering panic, incredulous disbelief, and a sudden, overwhelming wave of what could only be described as opportunistic glee! Five?! Holy crap, FIVE! What do I wish for?! Immortality?! No, sounds boring after the first few millennia. Billions, no, ZILLIONS of dollars?! Tempting, but money isn't everything, especially if I end up in a world without capitalism. Go back to my old life?! HELL. NO. That life was a one-way ticket to mediocrity and an early grave from stress-induced ulcers. Strength?! Definitely strength! Magic?! Ooh, magic sounds fun! But what kind of world am I even going to?! What's useful there?! Think, brain, THINK! This isn't like choosing toppings for a pizza! This is life… a NEW life… defining!
The Voice… it wasn't impatient, but it felt… immense. Vast. Like trying to have a casual chat with a sentient galaxy. Waiting. The pressure was unbelievable, a crushing weight on my non-existent chest, heavier than any truck.
Okay! Okay! Deep breaths… if I had lungs. Calm down. Five wishes. Five. This is a golden ticket, a royal flush, a get-out-of-eternal-oblivion-free card! Need to pick things that will help me SURVIVE! And, more importantly, THRIVE! What's truly important? Strength! Gotta be strong! I just died precisely because I was a squishy, fragile meat-sack! Power! The ability to not be roadkill again!
Right! Okay! Wish one! My mind, already a whirlwind of geeky knowledge from countless hours spent devouring manga, anime, and light novels, latched onto an idea with the tenacity of a starving velociraptor. "Okay, Voice-thingy! For my first wish! I want… I want the inherent physical traits, genetic potential, and the unique growth ability of Frieza's race from the Dragon Ball Z universe! The ability to get ridiculously, obscenely strong with even minimal, focused training, and especially the capacity to recover from near-death experiences with massive, exponential power boosts – Zenkai, baby! Yes! That one! Strength and unparalleled potential for growth!" I declared, or rather, thought with fervent intensity.
[Wish One: Acquisition of Species-Specific Biological Markers and Adaptive Evolution Capabilities analogous to 'Frieza Race Variant 7.2 (Non-Canon Composite)' – Accepted. Processing allocation…]
The Voice's confirmation sent a shiver of… something… through me. It was happening! My inner fangirl, who had been screaming incoherently in the background, did a little victory dance. Oh, the irony! My last hours alive were spent contemplating One Piece and Dragon Ball, and here I was, making a DBZ-themed wish! And that slime isekai I'd binged last week… its influence was definitely there in the whole 'reincarnation with mad skills' vibe. This was surreal.
"Okay, okay, focus!" I chided myself. "Second wish! Since I'm probably going to a new world with who-knows-what kind of knowledge systems or even language… I wish to have the ability to learn anything – skills, knowledge, languages, muscle memory, anything – at a supernaturally accelerated rate! Faster than anyone else, comprehending and mastering concepts almost instantly!" Genius-level learning speed, yes please!
[Wish Two: Enhanced Neuroplasticity and Accelerated Cognitive Acquisition Matrix – Accepted. Processing allocation…]
Two down, three to go! My non-existent heart was hammering a frantic rhythm. This was intense! "Third wish… hmm." My thoughts raced. Raw power and fast learning were great, but what about utility? Versatility? I remembered a particular type of magic from countless fantasy settings, something that always seemed incredibly useful. "Okay, for my third wish… I want to have Creation Magic! The ability to create and summon any non-living material or object I can clearly imagine, using my own energy as a catalyst!"
The Voice paused, a flicker of… something… in its non-tone. [Clarification required for Wish Three. 'Creation Magic.' Do you envision the conjuration of base elemental materials – e.g., wood, stone, metals – or the direct manifestation of complex, fully formed constructs – e.g., a pre-assembled firearm, a functional device – based solely on mental blueprint and available energy reserves?]
WAHHH!!! It can talk talk?! Not just pre-programmed responses?! This was more interactive than I thought! "Uhh, whoa, okay!" I stammered in my thoughts. "Yes! The second one! Like, if I imagine a specific type of wood, I can summon that wood. But also, if I have a clear enough mental image and understanding of, say, a complex gun, BAM, I can summon a fully functional gun, assuming I have the energy for it. Or a sword! Or a grappling hook! Or… or a really comfy pillow!" The possibilities made my head spin.
[Wish Three: Matter-Energy Transmutation and Object Manifestation (Complex Blueprint Focus, Energy Consumption Variable) – Accepted. Processing allocation…]
YES! Oh, this was going to be awesome. Four! What for the fourth? Survival, learning, creation… what else? A safe space! A home base! My mind flashed to all those protagonists with their handy pocket dimensions. "For my fourth wish, I wish for a personal, adaptable, and inviolable pocket dimension! A safe haven that I can access and exit at will, something I can use for storage of anything I create or find, a place to rest and recuperate, a workshop for my creation magic, or even an intensive training ground! It should be completely inaccessible and undetectable to anyone or anything else in any reality unless I explicitly permit entry, and its internal environment – size, appearance, ambient conditions – should be customizable by me over time as I get stronger or learn how!"
[Wish Four: Extradimensional Personal Sanctorium (Adaptive, Secure, User-Controlled Access & Customization) – Accepted. Processing allocation…]
One wish left! The final frontier! This was it! The big one! What could it be? I wanted to be strong, smart, creative, and have a safe place. What was missing? The where! The grand stage for my new life! My heart, if I still had one, swelled with a fannish desire so potent it was almost painful. "Okay, Voice! For my fifth, my final, my ultimate wish! I wish… I wish I could be reborn in my absolute favorite anime and manga! The greatest, most epic, most adventurous work of fiction of ALL TIME! I want to be in the world of… of…"
[Wish Five: Reincarnation within Subject Designated 'Greatest Fiction of All Time' – Accepted. Commencing reintegration sequence. Standby for immediate… WHOA THERE, PARTNER! HOLD YOUR HORSES! I WASN'T FINISHED YET! DAMN IT!]
And just like that… the Voice, with its calm, galactic-level power, just… faded. The immense pressure lifted. Everything was still black… but it felt… different. Not empty. It was like floating in warm, amniotic fluid, a gentle, soothing embrace. A sense of peace, of transition.
But my last thought, a frantic, panicked yell into the fading connection: "WAIT! THE GREATEST FICTION IS SUBJECTIVE, YOU OVERBLOWN COSMIC CALCULATOR! WHAT IF I END UP IN SOME CHEESY ROM-COM, OR A GRIMDARK HELLSCAPE I ONLY WATCHED ONCE?! I MEANT ONE PIECE! OR MAYBE DRAGON BALL Z! NOT… NOT TWILIGHT! AAAAARGH!"
Too late. The connection was severed.
…
…
…
The next sensation was… muffled. Sounds, distant and distorted, like hearing something from underwater. Then, a gentle pressure, a soft warmth enveloping me. A woman's voice, soft as worn velvet, tired, undeniably strained, but resonating with a profound, all-encompassing warmth that seeped into my brand-new, unformed consciousness.
"...My daughter... Ann... your name shall be... Gol D. Ann..."
My eyes, tiny and unfocused, fluttered open. The world was a blur of indistinct shapes and overwhelming light. Then, a face swam into view, resolving slowly. A woman. Beautiful, with a cascade of strawberry blonde hair framing a pale, sweat-slicked face, her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, kind and impossibly weary, looking down at me with an expression of such raw, powerful love it stole my non-existent breath away. She held me close, one hand, so large compared to my new form, gently, almost reverently, stroking my tiny, fuzz-covered head.
"UAAAAAAAAA…! WAAAAAAAH! UAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Tears! Actual, streaming, hot tears! They weren't the silent, desperate tears of a dying adult trapped in a mangled body, but the loud, hiccuping, full-throated wailing cries of a newborn baby! It was real! I was here! Reborn! A tiny, helpless, screaming infant! And this woman… this beautiful, exhausted, loving woman… was my mother?!
"If it's a girl... Ann... if it's a boy... Ace..." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, raspy and faint, each word seeming to cost her a monumental effort. "He picked them... Roger picked those names… so her name is Gol D. Ann... our daughter... our precious little child... Oh, Ann..."
Gol D… Ann…? My wailing hitched for a microsecond. Wait… Gol D. Roger's child…? Ann? But… but I thought… I was sure it was Ace?! Portgas D. Ace! What the actual heck was going on?! Did that blasted Voice misinterpret "greatest fiction" and mess with established canon?!
Suddenly, the arms holding me, the arms that felt like the safest, warmest place in this new, bewildering universe, trembled violently. They grew weak, lax. Panicked voices, sharp and urgent, erupted around us, shattering the fragile peace.
"Rouge! Rouge, stay with us!!! Rouge, open your eyes!"
Rouge?! As in… Portgas D. Rouge?! No. Way. The woman holding me… the woman who had just named me Gol D. Ann… was Gol D. Roger's lover?! And I'm… I'm their daughter?! Not Ace?! This is… This is completely, utterly, mind-bogglingly insane! That Cosmic Voice did know which "greatest fiction" I meant! One Piece! But… why am I a girl? Why Ann and not Ace?
But even as these frantic, world-shattering thoughts raced through my new, infinitesimally tiny baby brain, my eyelids felt like lead weights. The world swam, colors blurring into a meaningless kaleidoscope. I was just so… so incredibly… tired. The sheer, overwhelming shock of it all, the monumental physical exhaustion of being born… or rather, reborn… it was too much for my brand-new, miniature system to handle.
I drifted off to sleep, a tiny fist clutching reflexively at the fabric of my mother's gown, the thought of my five wishes a faint, glowing ember in the darkness of my nascent consciousness. Strength… learning… creation… a safe haven… I'm going to need them. All of them. More than ever.
…
…
…
The next time consciousness surfaced, it was to the sensation of gentle, rhythmic bouncing. I was being carried again, this time in strong, undeniably masculine arms. I blinked my eyes open, the world still a bit blurry but less overwhelming than before. I looked up, focusing on the face above me. A man, his features weathered, with a short, neatly trimmed beard and streaks of grey already silvering the dark hair near his temples. He looked down at me, not with the tender adoration of my mother, but with a complicated, almost unreadable mix of profound sadness, grim resolve, and a flicker of something that might have been… reluctant duty.
"You know…" he rumbled, his voice deep and resonant, like distant thunder or the grinding of tectonic plates. "Sometimes life just ain't fair to some folks. Not fair at all." He adjusted his hold, shifting me slightly. "A child… a child shouldn't have to carry the heavy burden of their father's sins… their father's name… but sadly… this damn, unforgiving world… it just doesn't see it that way."
Sins of his father… Gol D…. Ann… Carried by a man who looked like… no, it couldn't be… could it? My tiny baby brain, already working overtime, tried to connect the dots. The way he spoke, the sheer presence he exuded even in his quiet sorrow…
BINGO! That Cosmic Voice, for all its premature wish-granting, definitely knew its stuff when it came to "greatest fiction"! ONE PIECE! And why the hell am I a baby girl named Ann? Wasn't it supposed to be Gol D. Ace? Am I a replacement? An alternative? My thoughts swirled.
My dawning suspicion was hammered home with the force of a Gomu Gomu no Pistol. I was, without a shadow of a doubt, in the world of One Piece. And I was, somehow, defying all known canon, the daughter of the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger.
Well… third time's the charm for that old 'no point crying over spilled milk' philosophy, right? My last life was pathetic. Small, insignificant, and ending as a bloody smear on the pavement. I died weak, helpless, and utterly unremarkable. Not this time. This time will be different. A fierce, burning spark of determination ignited within my tiny chest. This time, I had wishes. I had potential.
As these fierce, surprisingly potent thoughts boiled in my disproportionately tiny baby head, the insidious tendrils of sleepiness crept in again. Blast it! All this sleeping! It was infuriating! But… it's fine. I'm a baby. Babies sleep. I have time. Plenty of time to grow. To grow Strong. To learn. To plan. To become someone who won't be crushed.
…
…
…
I opened my eyes again, the world a little clearer this time. I found myself under the surprisingly gentle ministrations of a bald man with huge, perfectly circular glasses perched on his nose, magnifying his kind, slightly worried eyes. He wore a crisp, white doctor's coat, and a stethoscope dangled around his neck. He was humming a tuneless, cheerful little ditty as he checked me over, his touch surprisingly deft for his large hands. A medical professional! Good! Maybe, when I could finally form coherent sounds other than wails, I could start learning some things about the local anatomy, biology, maybe even Devil Fruits from a knowledgeable source.
"Hmm, wonder where Garp picked this little one up from..." the old medic muttered to himself, more thinking aloud than speaking to anyone in particular. He shook his head, a frown creasing his brow. "Hope he didn't just... you know... snatch her up from somewhere unfortunate... No, Garp wouldn't do that... would he...? Probably not... Right...?" He peered at me over the rim of his glasses, as if I might offer some answers.
Garp?! As in, Vice-Admiral Monkey D. Garp?! The Hero of the Marines?! He was the one who carried me?! The man whose voice rumbled like thunder?! And his own crew, or at least this ship's doctor, thinks he might have just kidnapped me?! Bwahahaha! Oh, this was rich! What a character! This world was already proving to be far more entertaining than Medical Theory 101.
…
…
…
Days blurred into weeks, or maybe it was already months. It was nigh impossible to accurately track the passage of time when your existence was a repeating cycle of eat, sleep, poop, cry, and occasionally, glare menacingly at the ceiling. Twenty hours a day, sometimes more, were lost to the blissful oblivion of slumber. I was definitely on a Marine ship; the constant, gentle rocking, the salty tang in the air, the distant shouts of "Hoist the mainsail!" or "Scrub the deck, you lazy maggots!" were dead giveaways. And Garp… oh lord, Garp! The man was a force of nature, an enigma wrapped in a Marine coat and powered by an inexplicable obsession. He'd visit occasionally, not to discuss the geostrategic political state of the world, or the nuances of Justice, or the ever-present threat of pirates… no, no, no! He came to recount, in painstaking, mind-numbing, and often slobber-filled detail, his various, apparently world-breaking, cracker-eating records!
Like right now! He loomed over my small cot, a tattered, yellowed newspaper clipping held triumphantly in one massive fist, nearly obscuring my entire field of vision. "See this, Ann?! See this?!" he boomed, his voice echoing slightly in the small cabin. "This! This was the glorious day I broke the All-Blue Cracker-Eating World Record for the very first time! GAHAHAHAHA! Back then I was just a young whippersnapper! Just a Lieutenant, can you believe it! But I still got a small mention on page 42! Must've been a slow news day, eh?! Or maybe they recognized true greatness even then! GAHAHAHAHA!"
He jabbed a sausage-sized finger at a grainy, faded photograph. It depicted a much younger Garp… fast asleep, mouth agape, with a veritable mountain of cracker crumbs completely covering his face and uniform! He's literally asleep in the photo documenting his record-breaking achievement?! And he's showing this… this monument to gluttony and narcolepsy… to a baby?! Who can barely focus her eyes beyond her own nose?!
If I didn't have the meta-knowledge that this man was one of the most powerful and influential figures in the entire world, capable of leveling mountains with his bare fists, I'd swear he was just some eccentric, possibly senile, old man with a severe biscuit fetish! He never, ever mentioned chasing pirates, or training recruits, or anything remotely heroic or Vice-Admiral-like! Just… crackers! An endless litany of cracker types, cracker consumption speeds, cracker-related anecdotes, and cracker-based philosophies! And I'm a baby! I can barely see straight, let alone understand his rambling, cracker-centric monologues!
At least I could roll around now! Progress! A small victory, but a victory nonetheless! Gotta work with what I have! Gotta start building those tiny baby muscles! My Frieza race potential wasn't going to unlock itself through wishful thinking alone! Most babies apparently start crawling around eight months… I was aiming for one or two! Gotta get mobile! Gotta start exploring!
"Ah! Ann! Little Ann! Why are you turning your back on your old Gramps Garp?!" he complained, his voice laced with mock disappointment, as I determinedly executed a slow, wobbly roll, presenting him with my diaper-clad backside. He punctuated his lament with another earth-shattering CRUNCH! CRUNCH! as he demolished another handful of crackers. "You gotta listen to my world-breaking records! Nobody else on this rust-bucket ship will! They all say they're 'too busy' or 'have duties'! The nerve!"
Because nobody else cares, you crazy old coot! And frankly, neither do I! My tiny, developing brain cells screamed in frustration. I need to focus on important things! Like figuring out how to consciously access the powers from my wishes! Or trying to memorize the faces and names of potential future allies and enemies on this ship! Not attempting to commit to memory your 345 (and counting) cracker-related records! Damn it! Now the number was stuck in my head again, displacing potentially vital information! Useless, utterly useless data!
So I just executed another determined, if slightly lopsided, roll, resolutely facing away from him and the crumb-laden hurricane of his presence. Time to pretend to be asleep and focus on flexing my… well… my baby… muscles. Every twitch, every tiny movement, was a step towards not being squishy.
…
…
…
Finally! Landfall! After what felt like an eternity adrift on an ocean of cracker crumbs and Garp's booming laughter, the ship docked. I could smell it – the rich, earthy scent of soil, trees, and something vaguely floral, a welcome change from brine and stale biscuits. I squinted, my baby eyesight still not optimal, but I could make out a small, peaceful-looking village nestled at the foot of lush, green mountains that kissed a clear blue sky! Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze. It had to be! The vibe, the look… Foosha Village! Monkey D. Luffy's hometown!
Garp, with his usual lack of ceremony, scooped me up from my cot, holding me rather like a wriggling sack of particularly noisy potatoes under one arm, and strode purposefully down the gangplank and towards those inviting green mountains.
We walked… and walked… and walked some more. The path, little more than a worn dirt track, wound steadily upwards, deeper and deeper into the dense, whispering forest. The air grew cooler, filled with the chirping of unseen insects and the rustling of leaves.
Finally, after what felt like another small eternity to my baby-sized perception of time, we arrived at a sturdy, if somewhat rustic, wooden house nestled in a small clearing amongst towering trees. Smoke curled lazily from a stone chimney.
KNOCK!
Except Garp didn't knock. Garp didn't do anything so mundane or polite as knocking. He assaulted the door.
BAAAM! BAAAM! BAAAM! Each impact of his colossal fist against the weathered wood sounded like a cannonball strike, shaking the very foundation of the house and probably the fillings out of anyone unfortunate enough to be inside.
The door didn't open; it was practically blasted off its hinges, flung inwards with a violent shudder, revealing a large, incredibly imposing woman. She had a mountain of wild, untamed orange hair, partially restrained by a practical bandana, and eyes that blazed with a furious, fiery light. A vein throbbed visibly in her forehead, a prominent purple testament to her explosive temper. She looked absolutely, incandescently furious.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE—!?" she roared, her voice like a gravel truck going downhill with no brakes, her fists already clenched, ready to commit grievous bodily harm.
But then her gaze, sharp and murderous, fell squarely on Monkey D. Garp. Her eyes widened comically. Her face, moments before a mask of rage, slackened into an expression of stunned, almost fearful recognition. The vein in her forehead deflated slightly. And her voice, that mighty roar, shrunk instantly, comically, to a sheepish, squeaky murmur. "...O-Oh... Garp-san... it's… it's you…"
Garp, a man who clearly had no time for pleasantries, social niceties, or explaining why he was demolishing someone's front door, simply held me out, presenting me like a slightly used, slightly damp offering.
"Dadan," he stated, his voice flat, utterly devoid of emotion but carrying an undeniable weight of command. "Take care of this girl."