Author's Note: Superior is something of a prequel to this story, but you don't have to read it if you don't want to. (Everything will make infinitely more sense later on if you do, though.) These two stories are heavily intertwined.

Rabbit Heart takes place shortly after the beginning of the actual series. It is therefore not a Teikou story, although there are events about Teikou within it.

That said, big thanks to Tomey for beta reading, and I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter One

"...and Hachioji Jun. That's it for reserves."

As soon as the announcement was made, murmurs broke out through the first-year players who were basically condemned to the position of "bench warmer" for the remainder of the year. "Hachioji? But he's the scrawniest guy here, he's almost like a girl." That actually was not as quite as far off as they might have thought. Jun was not exactly anatomically male, though her figure was androgynous enough to pass off as such.

"Practice hard," the coach advised, seeming to ignore the chatter.

With that, their "meeting" was adjourned. Everyone else broke away to either mutter their complaints about the selection or to resume practice. Jun did neither—she grabbed her jacket off the bench, slipped it on, and headed for the locker room. Changing in there was not an option, but she did have to make a point of popping in and out just to allay the suspicions of her teammates.

When she cracked open the door and ducked in, Jun was mildly surprised to run almost head first into someone a whole head taller than her. And she could feel her stomach lurch when she peered up and found those emerald irises glaring down at her.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, side-stepping to bypass him.

"You should give up."

Jun had only made it a few steps when she heard him say that. She peered over her shoulder. "What?"

"Even as a reserve, you will never play a game." He returned her gaze coolly, lifting a finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. His face was still covered in a thin layer of sweat from practice.

Rather than his words having the edge of someone trying to be confrontational, it seemed more likely that he was giving his honest observation. That almost made it more painful—because she realized that he was only stating the truth as he saw it. She swallowed back her anger, breathing a sigh. "I never asked for your opinion. And I'd really prefer if you didn't talk to me. I don't like you."

"Hm," he grunted back. Perhaps Jun had expected for him to confirm that the feeling was mutual, but that steely gaze told her that he didn't even consider her worth disliking. But as he left, she caught a glimpse of the koi keychain dangling from his schoolbag—and she could only guess it was his lucky item for the day.

As soon as he was gone, she stalked over to her locker and wrenched it open. As much as she tried to remain calm talking to him, there was something about how Midorima always gave the impression of being laidback that set her off. Maybe it also had something to do with him being one of the only first years that had managed to make the core team, while she had only just made it to reserves.

It's okay, she reassured inwardly. There's still plenty of time before Interhigh. If I improve, the coach might switch me in... right?

Three weeks, to be precise. Not enough time for a rapid enough improvement to surpass the second year currently occupying her position. Shutoku already had a strong team with talented core players; the reserves were just insurance, occasionally swapped in to save the stamina of the core. But other than that, they rarely saw a game.

Yanking her bag out of the locker, she slung it over her shoulder before stalking back out of the locker room. Even Jun had to acknowledge that her dream was too far off to be a reality. Maybe that's all it would ever be—a dream.

As she was shuffling toward the front gate, kicking the ground along the way, she heard a familiar ringtone coming from her bag. For the first time that entire day, a smile worked its way up on her narrow lips as she flipped the phone open. "Hey," Jun greeted with a hint of laughter.

"You took so long to answer, I didn't think you would," a feminine voice sulked from the other end.

"Did you have an appointment today?"

There was a sigh on the other end. "Yeah. I already got out a few days ago, I'm not sure why they're still wanting to monitor me so closely. I'm feeling just fine now."

"Hey, Yuki. I'll come see you today—"

"No," the voice on the other end interrupted. "Sorry, Jun-chan, I miss you and I want to see you. But give me a little bit longer to recover." It had always been that way—the two of them had been best friends since childhood, and Yuki's weak constitution coupled with her health problems had ended in frequent hospital stays. When that happened, to Jun's dismay, Yuki refused to see her. I don't want you to see me when I'm sick.

There was a pause where Jun tried to think of the words to say to mask her disappointment. "Then soon. You start school next week, right? Before next weekend, let me come see you." There was desperation in her voice, though she hoped Yuki wouldn't notice it. There was nothing that Yuki disliked more than being excessively worrried about.

"Alright, I'll be looking forward to it."

"Yeah. It's a date, okay?"

There was a giggle. "Okay! Bye-bye, Jun-chan."

The conversation ended with a click and Jun snapped her phone shut before stuffing it back into her bag. Her house loomed in the distance—a dilapidated traditional Japanese home. It was worn by time and unkempt by the only other resident that lived there. Almost as soon as Jun stepped in through the front gate, she found herself greeted by a familiar puddle of wrinkles in the form of a face.

"Ya nimrod, ya forgot ta lock the door again!" her grandmother chided, brandishing the broom in her hand as though it was a sword and she a knight. "Ya always—"

"I always ignore you and leave the door unlocked which invites thieves to just take off with our possessions," Jun recited, having heard the same line at least a dozen times throughout her childhood. In the absence of any parents, she had been raised by this stout, sassy woman whose general facial expression was set into a constant scowl.

"Hmpf. If ya know what I'm gunna say, then jus' lock the door next time."

"Yes, Grandmother. I'm sorry." Although her apology didn't sound entirely sincere. Jun had more on her mind than locking the front door. And it obviously hadn't ended in mishap anyways—otherwise the older woman would have been far angrier. "What are we having for dinner?"

"Tch, jus' get home and yer already worried 'bout your next meal. All ya do is eat," the shorter woman grumbled to herself, giving a pointed glare at her granddaughter.

Jun's resemblance to her grandmother was rather uncanny – a pale complexion, eyes nearly as dark as coal, and hair the same ashy color. But unlike her grandmother, Jun's hair was loosely curled and hanging unkempt down to her jaw. When she had asked about the texture of her hair, her grandmother had off-handedly replied that it was a probably from her mother's side.

"Well, don't jus' stand there. Get yer butt in here and help me make supper."

"Yes, grandma."

—

"Go, Hachijoi!"

Slipping past the defense was tricky, but perhaps her time on the track team in junior high had come in handy for something. She made it just as the ball came soaring toward her. She caught it just before she jumped through the air. The swish of the net was satisfying, especially followed by the echo of the ball smashing against the ground.

Almost as soon as she landed, Jun pivoted and started toward the other end of the court with the rest of her teammates. Practice was nearly over for the day and she had sweat pouring down her face. The taste of salt rolled across her tongue. She had never worked quite so tirelessly – and yet she still heard the echo of Midorima's words in her head. "You should give up." It was a struggle to swallow.

As much as she wanted to dismiss those as words of a pessimistic elitist, they were true. Perhaps that's what made them even more painful to hear. His honesty should have been a redeeming quality, but Jun would have preferred words of encouragement. Even if they were lies.

No, she amended, feeling a spark of indignation toward herself. No, if he lied to me then there would have been no point in coming to the same school as him. The whole reason she had transferred to Shutoku was to be with Midorima – ironic, considering how much she didn't like him. But of the Generation of Miracles, she had only ever spoken with Midorima and... Akashi.

"Akashi," she repeated his name under her breath. It tasted bitter on her tongue. He was the whole reason she was here to begin with.

"Hachioji!"

Her head snapped – just in time for her to realize that the ball was coming toward her. Grabbing it, she started toward the other side of the court – only to find the way blocked by a particularly bulky body. He had proved difficult to bypass the last time but he would surely be even harder this time.

I have to improve. More... faster... I have to hurry.

There was no choice. She already knew – if she kept up at this rate, she wouldn't see a single real game until next year. So there was only one thing left to do...

—

"Midorima-san." She had called out to him several times, but he seemed content to continue walking ahead of her toward the locker room as though he had never heard her at all. That seemed unlikely. If Jun were to guess, he was probably avoiding or ignoring her since their last encounter. It had been several days since, however, and she had mulled over the issue until she wanted to vomit. "Midorima-san!"

"Yelling is unnecessary," he informed matter-of-factly, finally pausing to allow her to catch up.

"If you had answered me the first time, I wouldn't have had to yell."

"I recall you saying you would prefer we didn't speak." He was glaring coldly at her as he spoke. If she hadn't known better, she might have thought him offended. More likely, he saw no point in any further interaction between the two of them. He had made his opinion clear.

Jun grimaced in turn. "There is something more important than that."

"Oh?" It was only at that point that she noticed the rather elaborately carved statue that he was cradling in the palm of his hand—a subtle reminder of just why she found him so exasperating. Jun had never been able to buy into horoscopes or anything superstitious.

"I want to play at Interhigh."

"Impossible," he assessed instantly without even considering it.

Jun ignored that comment and pressed on. "I have to get better quickly in order to even be considered. So... please, help me." She bowed forward, as though it would have any effect in swaying him. The two had not seen eye-to-eye since middle school. The odds of that changing now were slim. And he had been against her entire idea of revenge from the very beginning—no doubt he saw the futility of her trying to go toe-to-toe with someone like Akashi. Even Midorima had never been able to match Akashi.

"Why." He said it without a rise in intonation—as though he wasn't really asking a question but pointing out there was no purpose in it in the first place. "No matter how hard you train, you will not—"

"Tell me honestly. Have you ever thought that about someone before and been proven wrong?"

There was a momentary flicker in those eyes, and then his lips snapped shut. The silence was brief, but he quickly amended his earlier words, "What position are you?"

"Small forward," she answered without hesitation. The hope was starting to build in her chest. Was he actually going to consent to teaching her? "I already asked Miyaji-senpai and he refused." Of course, she had expected him to. He was the team's current small forward and his position was secure—he was a talented player. She would never be able to surpass him – even matching his abilities was too optimistic.

"Seirin is playing a practice match against Kaijou a few days from now." That seemed like a really random thing to bring up all of a sudden.

Jun regarded him quizzically. "Oh...?"

He started walking again, and for a moment it seemed he would not elaborate further. Then, just before he reached the doors of the gym, he peered over his shoulder. Those piercing eyes left her rooted in place. "Teikou's small forward, Kise Ryouta. He's on Kaijou's team."

Outwardly it seemed as though he had rejected her—that he had no intention to help her. But maybe the whole reason he had mentioned that tidbit was because Midorima couldn't teach her what she needed to learn. (Or just as likely, he didn't want to.) Either way, he had provided her with another option. One that was infinitely more appealing than just asking Miyaji-senpai to teach her.

The kind of rapid improvement she would need to accomplish to be ready for Interhigh would not be something she could achieve by being coached normally. She needed someone who had been in a similar position. And while Kise was only someone she had heard about in her time at Teikou, he had rapidly risen through the ranks there. That was exactly what she needed now.