Afterwards, Kisechin had gone up to him and asked, "Why did you have to go and do that? Now Akashicchi's gone all creepy!"
Atsushi can't remember what he'd said in return, probably something about how he just wanted to. Which is admittedly his reason for anything he does. Self-reflection isn't something he spends a lot of time on.
But if he had to say, he just wanted to see Akachin's humiliated face, maybe. Everyone broke down when they faced him on the court, so it was a face he was well used to seeing. But Akachin had never looked like that. For anything. Even Minechin, who wins on the basketball court, breaks down when he gets within a meter of a textbook. Even Midochin is sure to wear that face when he faces Akachin across the chess board. But not Akachin.
Can anyone blame him then, for wanting to see Akachin's face on the edge of despair, at that moment when hopelessness stares him in the face? What would it look like? Akachin's tearstained face. Even now, Atsushi can't imagine it.
It's not that Atsushi didn't like Akachin. It was the other way around maybe. He loved him, in a way. Akachin didn't try to act strong even though he'd lost, Akachin didn't have to try at all – his strength was the confidence of someone who never lose. Akachin didn't keep picking himself up after every failure to fling himself at the same insurmountable wall time and time again, because Akachin had no insurmountable walls. Atsushi loved him for that, and wanted to see him break all the more.
That sounded mean, but the things that Atsushi liked always broke. Or they get twisted into something bad and hateful, which is just the same as breaking really. It's better to break them as soon as possible, instead of waiting in trepidation until it finally happens. After all, broken things still work perfectly fine, they just need a bit of sticky tape.
It was a good thing then that Murochin came to him pre-broken. Atsushi didn't have to do anything about it at all. Except the sticky tape part; Atsushi had never had to work so hard to put something broken back together before. He'd never found something worth the trouble. But broken Murochin, as nice as that is, still isn't as good as taped-together Murochin who spoils him and coddles him and is basically like Akachin except with cracks. If Akachin actually broke, would he be like Murochin? But Murochin is already so much trouble to look after; a broken Akachin would be too much.
"What are you thinking so seriously about, Atsushi?" Murochin said, doing that thing where he tries to pretend he doesn't really care, but actually he's memorising every expression on your face just in case he needs to recall it later and cast everything in the worst light possible. Murochin is so troublesome.
"Hmmm, I was just thinking that Akachin would be a real pain to deal with if he loses, even though it'd be really yummy if he does."
"That's a cruel thing to say, Atsushi." And that was Murochin's scolding tone, the one when he doesn't want you to know he totally agrees with you. "Rakuzan's actually ahead by points, you know."
"But still, I want to see it. I just don't want to deal with Akachin afterwards."
"I don't see why Atsushi would have to deal with Akashi anyway? It would be up to Rakuzan to deal with him, wouldn't it?"
"Ah, that's true. I forgot." It was a bit disappointing; Atsushi really wanted a broken Akachin. But it was a relief too, in the end. "I guess I don't have enough sticky tape anyway. Not enough for three people."
"Sticky tape?" Murochin doesn't get it, but that's okay. Murochin's pants at using sticky tape on himself anyway, he just ends up all frustrated and crying. Atsushi can tape them both back together just fine himself. Without crying even.
"Yup. For Murochin. And me, I guess. But mostly Murochin. 'Cause broken pieces can't play basketball, it'll break the ball."
This is turning into Minechin levels of bad metaphors. Time to stop. Also, Murochin's looking at him all weird.