As A Mafia Boss, I Refuse To Be An Extra

Alaric stared at his glass for a long moment, swirling the liquid.

“You know, when I was a kid, I never got to bond much with my dad.”

His voice was quieter now, more serious.

“He was a lot like me… Awkward. Never knew how to open up and spent more time teaching me how to kill things than how to talk to people.”

He looked up at Damian.

“But hey, let’s talk like friends tonight. Not father and son with all the baggage that comes with it. Just two guys drinking on a roof… Okay?”

Damian saw what his father was trying to do, creating space for honesty without the weight of expectations. Sometimes it was easier to talk when you pretended the relationship didn’t matter as much as it did.

“Okay.”

Alaric looked at him for a long moment, those silver eyes seeing more than Damian was comfortable with.

Then he sipped his drink and turned to look at the moon.

“I know you have traumas. I know your memories are eating at you. I can’t even imagine living as a normal kid for fifteen years and then suddenly having an entire different lifetime dumped into your head.”

He paused.

“But I can guess one thing… There’s a question you must ask yourself constantly. ’Who am I?’ Right?”

Damian’s hand tightened on his glass. He didn’t answer but his silence was confirmation enough.

“…Everyone asks that question at some point in their lives,” Alaric continued. “Some people get their answer quickly, while others spend their whole lives looking… You’ll find yours eventually.”

“What if…” Damian’s voice came out rough. “What if I don’t like the answer?”

“Then you change it. That’s the beautiful thing about questions like that. The answer isn’t fixed… people don’t remain the same their entire lives.”

Damian stared down at the liquid in his glass, watching the way it caught the moonlight.

“I… feel like my entire previous life was controlled. Someone pulling strings, making me dance to their tune. And even now…”

He trailed off, not sure how to finish.

“Even now you feel like you’re still being used,” Alaric finished for him. “Like a tool for someone else’s goals.”

“Yeah.”

Alaric took another long drink, his eyes distant like he was looking at something very far away.

“I’ve seen things in my life. Unspeakable things, far worse than you can probably imagine right now. And there’s one truth I can’t deny no matter how much I might want to.”

He turned to look at Damian directly.

“Control is an illusion. Nobody controls their lives. You never know what’s going to happen next, what choice will lead where and what consequences will follow you home. Even the people who think they’re in control are usually the most delusional.”

Damian’s hair fell forward, shadowing his face as he lifted his glass.

“That also means,” Alaric continued, “if there really is someone out there who thinks they’re controlling your life, they’re deluding themselves. No one can control everything. There is no absolute. So just do your best, bide your time and learn to be patient.”

Damian looked up, his crimson eyes sharp despite the alcohol.

“I don’t believe control is an illusion. If someone has absolute power, they can control everything.”

Alaric didn’t argue. He just studied his son’s face.

“Is that your goal then? Acquiring absolute power?”

Damian nodded.

“That’s a good goal to have.”

The words surprised Damian. He’d expected pushback and warnings about the dangers of seeking too much power.

“But… why do you want it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Damian’s voice carried frustration. “I want to control my own fate and power is the only way to do that.”

“Is it?”

Alaric’s tone was genuinely curious, not challenging.

“If someone is really controlling your life to make you, let’s say, ’strong’, then all you need to do is abandon everything and live a normal life. Become a farmer in the western region, get married, have kids and live quietly where nobody expects anything from you. If you remove yourself from external influences completely, no one can truly control you.”

“That’s…” Damian struggled to find words. “That’s stupid.”

“And at the same time, simple.”

Alaric smiled slightly.

“So I’ll ask again. Why do you want power? Is it truly power that you seek, or something else?”

He leaned forward.

“Let’s say you have it… All the power you could want and complete control of your fate. You’re at the absolute top of everything… What then?”

Damian opened his mouth and closed it. His mind, fuzzy with alcohol, couldn’t find an answer.

“A man spends his entire life chasing things he doesn’t have,” Alaric said quietly. “Focusing so hard on what’s missing that he never learns to appreciate what he already has. And then one day he loses it all and realizes every goal he had was meaningless compared to what he let slip through his fingers while he wasn’t paying attention.”

“…”

He reached across the table and refilled Damian’s glass.

“Your goal is fine. Power, control and strength. Everyone in this Federation wants the same things, but that’s not what defines you as a person. And sometimes, even if your past life was tragic, you forget how lucky you are to have a second chance.”

Damian stared at him.

“You have people who love you, a mother who would burn the world for you, Luna who nearly died from worry over you, friends who trust you, professors like Seraphina Vale, who believe in you and despite every logical reason to stay away from you, guides you… Most people go their entire lives without finding one person they can really talk to, let alone all of that.”

Alaric’s voice was gentle now, without judgment.

“So yeah, chase your power, kiddo. Get strong enough that nobody can touch you, but don’t forget what you’re protecting in the process. Because power without purpose is just destruction waiting for a target.”

They sat there for a while after that, passing the bottle back and forth, talking about smaller things.

Alaric told stories about his early days as an awakener, the stupid mistakes he’d made, the people he’d lost. Damian found himself talking about his first life more than he ever had before, the mundane details that didn’t seem important but somehow mattered in this context.

The conversation wandered, sometimes serious, sometimes funny and sometimes just comfortable silence while they drank and watched the city sleep below them.

As the sky started to lighten with approaching dawn, Alaric stood up. He drained the last of his glass and set it down with a soft clink.

“One more thing, Damian.”

His son looked up, eyes slightly glazed but still focused.

“Learn to forgive yourself for not knowing what only time could teach you. Not everything is your fault, even if it really feels like it… just like what happened with Zavier’s family.”

Then he disappeared.

Space folded and Alaric was gone, leaving Damian alone on the roof with the empty bottles and the rising sun.

Damian sat there for a long time after, drinking slowly and thinking about everything his father had said.

The question hung in his mind, refusing to leave.

’What do I want… power for?’

He’d always thought the answer was obvious. Control, safety and the ability to never be helpless again.

But what came after? Once he had that power, that control, that absolute strength… then what?

The sun continued rising, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

And Damian kept drinking and kept thinking, the question following him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

’Who am I? And who do I want to be?’