1st Disclaimer: I don't own KnB.

2ND DISCLAIMER: The first character, Lily Masden, is supposed to be a play on a Mary-Sue, so if she seems like one, she's supposed to. I understand that disclaimer would make all readers wary, but give it a try.

I mainly write for the Prince of Tennis fandom and I just came up with this idea, so I probably am not a familiar writer to any of you guys.

"We have a game tomorrow," Akashi Seijiro calls out as he pushes the door connecting the locker room to the gym. "You know the drill. There's a twenty point requirement."

The rest of the basketball players following Akashi merely nod or grunt. With his head held up high, Akashi leads the other main players on to the court. The other main members were only at practice as it was the day before a game. The purple giant yawns before munching away at his chips, spreading crumbs over his mouth as a bubbly blonde babbles to a person who barely seems to exist. The serious green-haired shooter simply pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with taped fingers as his other hand was clutching a small metal horseshoe.

"Mou, Dai-chan is gone again," a pink-haired girl whines, leaning against the wall of collapsed bleachers and clutching a clipboard.

"Doesn't matter as long as he gets the point requirement, Momoi," Akashi dismisses the missing Generation of Miracles member.

A stranger stirs in the corner of the gym and Akashi's eyes instinctively follows the movement. His eyes flash at the three intruders. Two teenage boys lean against two different sides of the corner of the gym, shading light from the third-whose head was nestled between where the two parts of where the wall met. The third sat on the wooden floor with legs slightly bent to the side and eyelashes flutter with every deep exhale.

Akashi strides purposefully towards the trio, eyes narrowed, just as the doors opened to the gym to reveal a tan, muscular guy who was sleepily rubbing his eyes.

"Dai-chan!" the pink-headed girl exclaims.

"Satsuki."

The two teenage boys raise their heads, noting the slightly shorter electric red-head striding towards them, followed by the rest of the basketball team.

One of the two teenagers pushes himself off the wall and steps forward; his dress shoes click against the wood and he runs his fingers through his spike, natural, and deep red hear that clashed painfully with the hair of Akashi Seijirou. The second male teenager shook out his sleeve and adjusted the cufflinks while shifting slightly to cover the face of the third person in the corner.

Akashi Seijiro notes this. The two standing teenagers looked exactly the same in matching black and striking suits. In every sense of the word, they were duplicates except for the hair; one had deep copper locks and the other had golden strands. The outstretched legs and hidden face too caught Akashi Seijirou's attention, but that rapidly became irrelevant to the fact that there were intruders in the gym during practice time.

"Nice to meet you," the deep redhead tilts his head and stretches out his hand, "Akashi Seijiro." His perfect Japanese was slightly impeded by an American accent.

"You are intruding on practice time," he snaps, not bothering to shake the outstretched hand. He resists the urge to push the boy down slightly to gain the advantage of height.

The suited redhead's lips curl up slightly. "My apologies. My parents intended us to meet here." He pauses slightly before adding, "Your father agreed."

Akashi's head snaps up at that statement. His father rarely includes business moves during school. Intending on cutting down on the wasted practice time, he sharply asks, "What do you want?"

Normally, people would be taken aback by the crude tone but the redhead's lips extend into a smile. Akashi Seijirou couldn't help but feel slightly peeved. Instead, the suited teenager says nothing but utter nonsense. "Just to introduce the Fujihara heirs to the Akashi heir."

Akashi's heterochromatic eyes narrow, processing the statement. He was never wrong and he remembers when they left for the United States a few years prior. Not only did the middle-aged Japanese couple not have children at the time, but also the two visible teenage boys did not look the slightest bit Japanese. "The Fujihara family has no heirs." The not visible teenager was still hidden from view, trying at Akashi's patience. "If you are going to say such ridiculous things, I expect all three of you to face me like men."

If possible, the suited redhead's smile widened as the blonde stepped aside slightly to reveal a pale and serene face that was very much asleep. A gray beanie was tugged over the hair and pale forehead and the large jacket and pants made the third teenager's limbs swim in fabric.

"I am afraid only two of us will have to, unless you wish for all three of us to be awake."

"I said all three," Akashi repeats, eyes flashing dangerously.

The blonde smirks before turning and pulling the third teenager's arm up into a half-standing position. "One jump, ahead of the breadline," he bumps hips with the still sleeping person while singing, "one jump, ahead of the sword." Not only does he catch the falling human, but he whips the cap off with great gusto with the lines, "I only steal what I can't afford."

"Which is everything," the redhead in a suit chimes in with a chuckle. "Sorry," he nods towards Akashi, "he's the artistic one out of us two."

Akashi could feel his mounting anger with the useless display until spying the third teenager whose glossy hair spilled over her shoulders. He could have been certain that she was a he until a few moments ago. Akashi's surprise isn't reflected on his face as he mulls over the previously sleeping person with all of her hair tucked into a cap.

Unlike Akashi, Momoi gasps. The rest of the uninterested regulars yawn and ask when practice is going to begin.

"Wass goin' on?" the girl slurs in English, barely catching a tiny packet that the blonde tosses her.

"We are in Japan, 'sis," the redhead answers, smiling slightly. "So speak Japanese. We know you don't do flights so we just let you sleep."

She nods before opening her eyes fully and tearing into the small package and shoving the contents into her mouth.

Akashi frowns. Was she seriously eating fruit snacks on the court? Akashi had enough with the honey-blonde female with green eyes along with her two brothers. "Please leave."

The female steps forward, crumpling the leftover plastic and shoving it into her pocket. Her sleepy eyes survey the surroundings before saying, "Make us."

Akashi's patience snaps as soon as the smooth words roll off her lips. "Fine. Three on three. If you score against us at all, I will hear you out."

He turns slightly before barking, "Kise, Kuroko, we're playing half court against these three." Akashi doubted that even with the weakest members of the Generation of Miracles, these three could score.

The female shrugs before pulling off her pants with several snaps. Unlike her siblings, she had no formal clothing on. Rather, she had large basketball pants that snapped up the sides of her legs, enabling her to pull them off with a tug. She whips off her jacket to reveal basketball shorts and shoes, along with a single gloved hand-she quickly discards the fabric covering her hand to reveal taped fingers. She tugs her hair into a ponytail before stepping on to the court with sports glasses that she had takentakes from her jacket pocket. Her brothers simply throw off their suit jackets and follow.

Midorima Shintarou came to practice like he did every day. Never in the last three years had a random girl shown up in practice and challenged Akashi Seijirou. Attempted to confess to the captain of the team? Several times. Fangirled over him? Quite often.

Not only was this girl possibly the most foolish he had ever seen, but quite possibly the most idiotic to think she could get away with wasting Akashi's time. It was a wonder that he hadn't run a scissor through her and her siblings. He cast a cursory glance towards the three strangers walking on to court before his eye caught the taped hand of the girl. She slips the sports glasses over her eyes before biting the tape on her fingers.

It unravels around her arm and she tosses it aside and off the court.

Midorima's eyes widened in recognition. Was that not what he did before every game?

"Matt, Kyle," she called out in English. "You know the drill."

"But-"

"Kyle, you'll be fine. I know you haven't played in a while, but remember to keep your hands up and hips low."

"But-"

"Don't be stupid."

The blonde sighs, wiping strands out of his eyes.

The redhead joins in. "Just twirl circles around the opponents if you have to." He chuckles.

The blonde, who Midorima assumed to be Kyle, growls and swats at the other who promptly ducks with a smirk. The female laughs.

Kise is oddly quiet as he observes the girl, "I swear I've seen her before." He walks on to the court murmuring to himself.

Midorima's eyebrow twitches as the female called "Check!" and passes the ball to Akashi who duplicates the motion back in accordance to half-court street ball basics. Her eyes were completely covered by the sports glasses that resemble goggles. Her triple-threat stance was no sort of threat to Akashi, who fixed the stare of both his eyes on her.

She jumps backwards, putting distance between herself and Akashi before lifting her arms up to shoot. Without Akashi's emperor eye in action, he couldn't perfectly predict her intention. Her fast movements were barely seen as she gracefully pushes the ball to fly through the air. Her movements looked as if she was so practiced, she was dancing. The ball was fast, faster than most shots. The low arc cuts through the air.

The twin brothers turn away and begin to walk off the court as the female smiles and lets her arms fall by her sides. She too spins on her heel as the unmistakable SWISH resounds through the quiet gym.

Midorima Shintarou blinks, almost in disbelief. Could it be...?

No.

No, it couldn't be. And yet the taped fingers, imperfect vision, and shooting skills were exactly the same. How could it be that a person he had never seen before was so similar to his ability, but in female form? Even if the ball didn't have his shot's floating nature, and her shot had less air-time, how? It was slightly creepy and completely unbelievable.

The girl releases her hair and eyes from their bindings and stalks towards the pile of discarded clothes.

"Nice job," the redhead grins while the blonde slings his arm around his shoulder. "You're as good as you've always been. I think we need our little victory dance."

The female frowns, "I don't think my dance would be welcome here. And besides, we accomplished our mission. We can leave. Don't you think we've troubled them enough?"

"Trouble is our middle name," the blonde smirks.

The green-haired shooter swings his head towards the captain who had no visible change. "Welcome to Japan," Akashi bows slightly. "I do not know if you truly are the Fujihara heirs, but if you are, we will be working together in the future."

"Lily Masden!"A yell resounds as a middle-aged woman bangs through the doors to the gym. "Honestly, you three are so rash."

"Ah, sorry," the female teenager smiles while rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly.

Momoi and Kise simultaneously gasp.

"You're that famous model in the States," Kise's eyes grow large. "Rumor is that you started modeling after you got noticed for your dancing and looks and to keep your brothers off the streets."

Instantly, the female's face becomes extremely guarded. "Time to go," she growls to her brothers as she zips her jackets over her shoulders.

"Yes," the two chorus and follow behind her.

A few seconds later, normal practice is in swing and Midorima Shintarou can't help but wonder if it was a dream.

Only when Aomine says, "She had a nice rack," does he realize that someone else with his basketball ability exist.

Lily Masden runs her fingers through her messy hair, seething to herself. She should have known that someone would still recognize her, even in a different country. She slides a roll of tape out of her pocket and starts winding it around her shooting hand's fingers.

Her usual haunted face had taken over since she had been given her own hotel room. Only when Matt and Kyle had popped their heads into the room to ask if it was okay to order room service did she brighten up temporarily.

She had screwed up, and she knew it. Instead of keeping the attention on the twins, her body had triumphed over her mind. It remembered the feel of the basketball against the pads of her fingers, the reverberating sound of a dribble, and the exhilarating thrill of a shot that made a perfect swishing sound.

She wasn't any good originally, but she had began by playing street ball during recess in elementary school. Lily had played day after day, but disliked that she was shorter than all of the guys who were rough. After school one day, she had been sitting on the playground and she saw a short Asian girl shoot a basketball in a high arc.

That had been the solution to her problem. She had worked and worked for years to get an accurate shot. Just when she had mastered it in seventh grade, the unthinkable happened.

Lily slumped against the wall, rubbing at her temples. It had not been easy as a less fortunate family on the streets of New York, but at least the food stamps aided from time to time. After her mom died from being overworked, they had been shuttled off to an orphanage which looked perfectly normal on the outside.

Little did the government workers know of the corrupted inside. Lily had to scramble to find a way to garner a bit of money to ensure of the three's survival. Sure, the people inside the orphanage could have easily reported it, but where would the children go? Would they be released to the notorious streets of New York at night?

No, it was better that they had a roof over their heads. She had somehow gotten a deal with a child photographer when she was at a free hip-hop event-it wasn't possible to be on the streets of New York and not know how to dance-and built her portfolio until she modeled for very small companies on weekends. After school, as her brothers were in a program for after school care and she had rejoined the basketball team as an excuse to why they couldn't give money to the director of the orphanage.

It was at the very end of eighth grade when she modeled for a bigger company and had gotten a fair bit of news coverage. Word spread of her background and a Japanese family had adopted all three of them.

Now, in her first year of American high school, she was back to playing basketball and modeling on the side-just in case. She had landed several large modeling deals and began focusing on schoolwork with an eased mind. It wasn't that she extremely intelligent, smart yes, though not necessarily the top of the large high school in book smarts, but she worked enough to make up for it. All-nighters and little fun was nothing new to Lily. The only break she ever truly had was basketball.

With her school rank, career, and athletic life, it was easy to call Lily Masden perfect. But a person who called her perfect didn't understand at all. One look at her haunted face showed the emotional scars. She was cold-hearted to everyone but her brothers, and she had built a wall between her and the rest of the world. After growing up in New York, she didn't trust anyone. Her frozen demeanor paired with her icy pride could cause a snowstorm upheaval in an instance. The blustery cold weather outside was warm in comparison to her heart.

She was no Akashi Seijiro, and she knew that. She had read about his background on the plane; he was rich and excelled at everything he did. Akashi Seijiro had no idea what the word "struggle" meant. He didn't understand how lucky he was. Between modeling, basketball, and school, Lily could barely hold on. The sleepless nights took their toll on her immune system.

After all, perfection came at a cost. All she wanted was to be normal. To live a good life.

Her phone beeped and she checked the notification, and instantly cursed. The text from her manager showed a magazine cover of a leggy blonde with green eyes crouching down in high heels, directing attention to her chest that was pushed out, highlighting her surprisingly natural assets on a slender frame. As much as modeling was part of her life, she hated the fact that models were essentially sex objects. She had known several models who had starved themselves into the hospital and had been diagnosed with a multitude of psychological issues. Modeling was not much of a priority anymore, but it was a safety net to losing another set of parents.

The constant model training paired with basketball practices made Lily Masden feel very small in comparison to Akashi Seijiro. Lily hated Akashi from the moment she read the first line of his file on the plane and she would hate him until the day she died.

Tossing herself on to the bed, she sighed and blocked out the light overhead. She felt utterly useless. For every one thing she was proficient in, there had to be five issues.

In comparison, Kyle and Matt were the perfect ones. They had gotten offers to model as well, and sometimes joined her in photoshoots, but they were so much more talented. Kyle was the artistic one; he learned how to play basketball and didn't really like it. Instead, he was into figure skating and Lily had worked her butt off to buy him all the skates and lessons he needed. Always refined and thoughtful, he was a direct contrast to both of his siblings. Matt took after herself with the basketball and the breakdancing. He was always the more bitter of the two.

There was a wall between them and the world. Lily didn't believe in childhood. The only childish parts she had were with the twins; the affectionate term of "troublemakers" were a perfect fit for the two. (Too bad Matt got blamed for the majority because of his sneaky and sly personality.) Lily Masden exhaled, letting her clouded mind clear.

A knock on the door made her eyes flutter open again. "Room service!"

Slowly, she gets up and opens the door to let the young man wheel a bowl of soup into the room. Suddenly, she frowns. She didn't even remember ordering room service.

The man bows and answers her unspoken question, "The person next door ordered for you."

At that, Lily presses a thousand yen note into his palm and ushers him out the door. Smiling slightly at the concern of her brothers, she lifts the broth to her mouth and sips, forgetting the mistake she committed earlier. There was plenty of time to fix her errors in the future.

Kamino Fusaye slams her fist against the metal lockers, gritting her teeth and keeping in tears through pure will. After several months of training, they had lost the basketball game by a margin of forty-two points. Her coffee-colored bangs cling to her forehead with the assistance of sweat.

The rest of the Nihongo Gakuen players avoid looking in Kamino's general direction, not wanting to say what was on their minds.

"It's your fault," the captain breaks the silence, pointing a finger at Fusaye and voicing the collective opinion of the team. "If it hadn't been for you, we could have won."

Fusaye chokes back a sob bubbling in her throat. As much as she wanted to deny the accusation, she knew she couldn't.

The opposing team's center had blocked every chance for a rebound during offense, dominating her shorter stature, while putting two people against her, making her unable to move around the court. With Leiko injured, the team depended on Fusaye for all of the plays.

It wasn't as if there weren't any other powerful members on the team. Akiko, the captain, was adept with toying with the opposing team mentally.

To be honest, Fusaye didn't even understand why she was given the position of power forward. She had never been good at it because of her inability to get rebounds and skirt around the bigger defensive players. Even when she was given the ball, her back was usually to the basket.

Fusaye grips her sports bag and sprints out of the locker room, tears trailing down her cheeks. If she had a tail, it would be tucked between her legs as she fled the war zone. She doubts that she would ever come back to a basketball court, even if Leiko begged. She was completely and utterly done.

"Fusaye?" A girl hobbling on crutches called out to her. "Fusaye?"

"Leave me alone Leiko!" Fusaye screams. "I hate basketball!"

Suda Leiko's lip wobbles, instantly understanding everything. She understood Fusaye's frustration during the game and her destroyed state. It wasn't Fusaye's fault that Nihongo Gakuen lost the game, Leiko concludes.

It was hers.

Yagami Sora's breath hitches at the smell of freshly made muffins exiting the oven. The vanilla and blueberry scents dance together as she slid the pan out of the oven and ditches the mitts. Attempting to sniff the air, she instantly began to cough, remembering that she was sick and unable to breathe through her nose.

Baking served as a source of comfort for Sora; the world around her could change, but the sweet recipes never did. The dim lights from the light overhead reflect against the kitchen tiles of the simple bakery. She empties the muffin pan into the trash can. There was no use in storing them if only she could eat them. Even if she did eat them, she wouldn't be able to taste them due to her dulled taste buds from the cold.

"Sora? Is that you?" Her mom leans against the door, rubbing her eyes. "Go to sleep. You need rest. You could at least attempt to study and catch up on school work rather than waste ingredients."

Sora obediently bobs her head and scurries out of the way before her mother could bring up how perfect Sora's sister, Maho, was. There was no doubt that Maho would be lying in bed, reading a book, if she was as sick. But no, Sora was considered to be the naughty child. Instead of studying, she tended the family bakery. Instead of doing math problems, she baked French madelines.

"Honestly," her mother continued, slowly waking up. "Why couldn't you play a sport like Maho? She is so successful now. She always had great grades, even when tending to the storefront."

Sora screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to hear the words that ate away at her insides. It was always Maho this, or Maho that.

"Matter of fact, you're banned from working in the bakery."

She gasps. The bakery was practically her home. She spent more time in the bakery than she did at school and in the flat above the bakery-which was supposedly her place of residence. "But Okaa-san-"

"Enough," Sora's mother barks. "You used to be normal and play with other kids until you entered middle school. You are enough of a disappointment. Attempt to fix your grades and be in a club that has nothing to do with cooking. You may have all the makings of a housewife, but you have no real skill."

"But-"

"If you are successful in your sport and you raise your grades, you will be allowed back into the bakery."

The last statement jabbed into Sora's skin. How could she be successful if the only athletic experience she had was running away from boys throwing rocks at her when she was younger? The order was impossible.

Sora's mother shut the door of the bakery and stomps up the stairs, leaving Yagami Sora on her knees, wondering how in the world was she supposed to ever be in the bakery again.

"Sorry!"

"Stop saying sorry," Aoi Yuuna grumbles. "It's annoying."

"Sorry!"

Yunna's eyes narrows at the teenage boy that strangely resembled a mushroom, restraining herself from slapping him upside the head. Her childhood friend's odd insistence on apologizing for everything was absolutely infuriating to Yunna, who barely ever apologized. She didn't apologize for when she knew she was wrong in an argument, and she certainly didn't apologize to Sakurai. It was moments like these that she wondered why the hell she kept him around.

Dribbling the ball, she pivots on her foot to spin around Sakurai's body in order to get a clear shot. Saturday mornings were the best for uninterrupted basketball games. There were no children, no distractions, just the court and the ball.

Playing basketball dictated the direct opposite of her personality. The sport requires focus and practice, and Aoi Yuuna disliked both. In school, she drifted from club to club.

"Wanderlust," her parents called it.

"You're a drifter," Sakurai agreed.

Whatever it was called, she could never commit to one singular interest. She had this itch to run to whatever she desired, ditching everything she had previously accomplished with whatever previously held her attention.

No, basketball was the exact opposite of her personality. She supposes the only reason she continues to play was because of Sakurai wanting a practice partner.

"You know," Sakurai pauses to wipe sweat that was dripping off of his chin, "you could join the basketball club."

"Why?" She nearly spits back. "Basketball is boring."

He smiles back, used to the acerbic tone she used while playing basketball. "How is photography club?" He changes the subject.

"Fine."

"And broadcast committee?"

"Fine."

"Do you ever get frustrated by being a jack of all trades?" He sits down, ball in his lap. "You basically have knowledge for every club in school."

"Shut up." Yuuna's eyes narrow, not liking where this conversation was going. He was going into his alter-personality, which usually only came out during clutch moments. Normally, she liked this personality because he didn't scream that he was sorry all the time, but his words hit a sensitive nerve.

"You've stuck with basketball on the weekends for a couple of years. Why don't you try out in high school?"

Her eye twitches. He just didn't get it. Playing had no appeal.

"Are you coming to my next game?"

"Only if you want me to."

The cold wind whips against Yunna's exposed hands and she involuntarily shivers. Sakurai's expression changed as he stands up and hides his face behind the ball, reverting to his normal personality.

"Sorry."

"Shut up."

"Sorry!"

A fist slams down on the desk between the two girls and the male teacher, who happened to be the supervision for the sports committee for Shutoku.

"What do you mean you are eliminating the girls basketball team next year?" Agano Emi cries.

"It's one of the main sports of every school! You can't do that!"

The teacher foldes his arms across his chest, proving otherwise.

Emi attempts to fix the situation, "I know we don't have many members, and we don't have a manager-"

"It is too late," Kanada-sensei shakes his head. "All of the other girls but you two are graduating, and the funding is being wasted."

"But we used to be good!" Yoshizawa Hana protests.

"Five or six years ago, yes."

Emi swallows, attempting to calm her racing pulse. "What if we recruit new members? What if we can play properly?"

"No."

Hana growls, bending over the desk. "With the new recruits, we will play the guys team. And we will win."

Emi's eyes snap open at Hana's rash statement. How in the world would they do that? Sure, the two of them were good enough to score a few points, but they would be overrun by the solid male team. The lack of teamwork ultimately led to their demise this year, as the other girls hogged the ball.

"I am listening," Kanada-sensei leans forward slightly, the rash declaration piquing his interest.

"We will have two weeks for recruiting before playing a game against them." Her hazel eyes reflected determination. "If we win, the team stays."

Emi gasped. Was she suicidal? Hana was always the more impulsive of the two, but this was ridiculous.

"Alright," Kanada-sensei agrees. "I agree to that."

Emi nearly slaps her forehead as Hana rocks backwards on her heels, satisfied.

"You are dismissed," he turns his eyes away from the pair and goes back to filling out paperwork.

Emi grabs Hana's wrist and drags her out of the classroom, furious. It wasn't long until a certain girl's bathroom on the second floor was filled with yells.

At this point, any hope for the future of Shutoku's female team was nonexistent.

Please read and review!