Death Paradox Omnibus💥BAKUDEKU💥

Chapter 20

THE HERMIT

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Chapter 20

He was fucked.

No, scratch that, he was unequivocally, cosmically, irreparably fucked.

The kind of fucked where he could practically hear Fatebreaker's dry, ancient voice dripping disdain into his ear, saying, Really, boy? Can't believe you actually fell for it.

Katsuki stood there clutching a sheet of black‑and‑red foil paper like it was a death warrant personally hand‑delivered by God. Or Satan. Or whoever the hell sadistic shithead ran this place. Origami.

Fucking origami.

He stared at the paper again, like maybe the colors would rearrange themselves into something sane, something doable, something that didn't make every vein in his forehead throb. The reflective red caught the light, highlighting the intricate floral pattern on it.

A dragon.

He'd picked the dragon.

He picked the origami dragon.

Of course, he'd grabbed the hardest fucking one, and now he was going to die folding goddamn paper. He'd fought monsters and demons. He'd fought Izuku at his worst. He'd stood over bodies and walked through hell and kept going, and now he was going to eat shit because he couldn't remember the difference between a squash fold and a reverse twist.

He wanted to punch something.... Preferably himself.

Most kids in Japan learned origami early; elementary school teachers drilled the basics into them like it was part of the national identity. A crane here, a boat there, maybe a star if the class was ahead of schedule. Cute. Harmless. Just enough skill to survive a culture festival.

But nobody, nobody, kept up with the shit unless they wanted to impress girls, join a craft club, or become that weird creep who could fold a thousand cranes in one sitting because they had "patience" or "emotional regulation." Most people grew up, touched grass, and forgot every step.

Katsuki remembered the basics. Hell, he remembered some of the fancier ones too—he'd learned a few just to show off once, back when he still cared about looking like the best at literally everything, including folding glorified squares of paper. All because Izuku had been good at it, and he wanted to outdo him.

The crane was easy. The frog was fine, but the dragon was intermediate.

Lean‑toward‑expert if you got the hard version—the multi-fold bastard with the twist‑spine and the degenerate snout. Katsuki couldn't remember which version he'd learned. Couldn't remember if he'd ever actually finished it.

What he did remember was that it had more steps than sanity. One wrong crease and the whole damn thing warped.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face, his grip tightened before he caught himself, nearly creasing the thing in half. He could already feel eyes on him. Some of the players murmured, half pity, half amusement, and each sound scraped over him like dull knives. Katsuki's skin prickled hot, heartbeat spiking, and his thoughts were stumbling over themselves.

"You stupid—god—fuck—"

This wasn't fear—fear he could handle. Fear he could burn into fuel. This was humiliation. The slow, dawning horror of realizing just how deep in the pit he'd dug himself.