As A Mafia Boss, I Refuse To Be An Extra

A few days had passed since the conversation with Luna.

Damian sat cross-legged in the center of the training room, his breathing steady and controlled. The meditation exercises helped keep the whispers at bay, though they still crept in at the edges when his concentration slipped.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

His Will stat was recovering slowly. The hallucinations were less frequent now and the fragmented thoughts were becoming more coherent with each passing day.

The door opened.

Damian’s eyes snapped open to see Alaric entering, dressed in simple combat clothes that looked nothing like the elegant clothes he usually wore.

“Feeling better?”

Alaric’s silver eyes assessed him with the casual precision like he could see through flesh to the bone.

“Yeah… A lot better.”

“Good.”

Alaric walked to the center of the room and stopped a few meters away.

“I want to see how you fight while not using any skills or arts. Just your physical capabilities against mine.”

Damian stood up, his body automatically falling into a combat stance.

“All out?”

“I’ll limit myself to A rank stats.” Alaric rolled his shoulders, his movements loose and relaxed. “Should be fair enough.”

’Fair for who?’

But Damian didn’t voice the thought. He just nodded and prepared himself.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Damian exploded forward.

His speed had increased dramatically from consuming those portal creatures. He crossed the distance in a blur, his fist aimed at Alaric’s face with enough force to crack stone.

Alaric tilted his head slightly.

The punch passed through empty air where his face had been a fraction of a second before.

Damian’s other hand came up in a hook toward his ribs.

Alaric’s palm caught his wrist, stopping the strike cold.

Then he pushed.

Damian flew backward, his feet leaving the ground and his body slamming into the far wall hard enough to crack the reinforced concrete.

CRACK

He dropped to his feet, blood in his mouth, his ribs screaming.

’That was just a push… He barely moved.’

Damian charged again, faster this time, mixing in feints and angle changes. His hand combat training from years of brutal practice from both lives should have given him an edge.

But it didn’t.

Alaric dodged or blocked every strike with minimal movement, his expression bored.

A backhand caught Damian across the face and sent him spinning.

CRACK

His cheekbone felt like it had shattered.

Damian spat blood and kept coming.

They moved in a blur across the training room, Damian throwing everything he had while Alaric casually dismantled every attack.

A palm strike to the chest sent Damian skidding backward… A knee to the stomach folded him in half.

Then Alaric’s foot caught him in the ribs.

BOOM

Damian flew across the room, blood erupting from his mouth mid-flight. He hit the wall with bone-rattling force and dropped to the floor in a heap.

His self-healing skill activated immediately, working to repair the damage, but the pain was overwhelming.

Pant…pant…

He pushed himself up on shaking arms, blood dripping from his mouth onto the floor.

“This isn’t A rank.”

His voice came out rough and accusatory.

“I’ve fought A ranks before. This is… this is something else.”

Alaric tilted his head, something like amusement crossing his face.

“Oh really?”

He walked over slowly, each step deliberate, until he stood over Damian who was kneeling on the ground trying to catch his breath.

“And who exactly did you fight, kiddo?”

“Those… those assassins from the Kestrel Family branch.”

Damian forced the words out between gasps.

“The ones who came after me… They were A rank.”

Alaric chuckled, the sound carrying genuine amusement now.

“Are you seriously considering those trash awakeners A rank?”

He crouched down so they were at eye level.

“Don’t compare yourself to below-average human awakeners who barely scraped into their rank. I spent my life fighting monster species. Giants, Demons and things that specialize in physical attributes far beyond what most humans can achieve.”

Damian wiped blood from his mouth, his crimson eyes focusing despite the pain.

“Then what–”

“Let me explain something about how stats actually work across all species.”

Alaric pulled out a potion from his spatial ring and tossed it to Damian, who caught it reflexively.

“Drink that while I talk. Your self-healing is good but you’re going to need help.”

Damian uncorked the vitality potion and drank, feeling warmth spread through his battered body as the healing accelerated.

Alaric settled into a sitting position, completely relaxed like they hadn’t just been fighting moments ago.

“Most people think reaching A rank means you’re strong. And compared to regular humans, you are. But there’s a massive gap between someone who just scraped into A rank and someone who’s actually powerful at that level.”

“The stat ranges?”

“Exactly. A rank starts at 450 and goes up to 800… That’s a huge difference. Someone with 450 strength versus someone with 800 strength aren’t even fighting in the same weight class.”

Damian’s ribs finished healing enough for him to breathe properly. He sat down across from his father, listening.

“Those Kestrel assassins you fought? They probably had stats around 450, maybe 500 if they were decent. You’re sitting at what, around 550 in your physical stats now?”

“540 to 550, yeah.”

“So you could match them in raw power. But that’s not what makes someone truly dangerous at A rank.”

Alaric leaned back, his silver eyes distant like he was remembering old battles.

“Combat experience, skills and understanding of how to use your body at that level… that’s what separates trash from genuine threats. I’ve seen humans with 700+ stats get killed by monsters with 600 because the monster knew how to fight and the human was just swinging around raw power.”

“So when you say you’re limiting yourself to A rank…”

“I mean 800 across the board. The absolute peak of what A rank can be.”

Damian absorbed this, his mind working through implications.

“And beyond 800?”

“That’s where it gets interesting.”

Alaric’s expression became more serious.

“800 to 1000 is what we call absolute peak A rank. Reaching those numbers requires either extraordinary talent, special body arts, rare resources, or decades of brutal combat. Most humans never see 800 in even a single stat. Some never pass 600.”

“But monsters–”

“Different species have different advantages.”

Alaric leaned forward slightly.

“Take Giants for example. They’re purely physical creatures and their strength is roughly triple what a human of equivalent rank can achieve.”

Damian frowned.

“So a Giant with 300 strength is actually…”

“Hitting like they have 900… Their one point of strength is equivalent to three of ours when it comes to raw physical power.”

Alaric’s voice carried the weight of experience.

“I’ve seen C rank Giants dominate B rank human awakeners in pure strength contests. Of course, the B ranker would win an actual fight since their other stats and Aura are way above what the Giant can manage, but in a straight test of raw physical power? The Giant wins every time.”

“That seems…”

“Unfair?”

Alaric smiled slightly.

“Surely, but Nature balances things out. Giants have that massive advantage in strength, but their speed is proportionally lower. Even if a Giant has the same speed stat as you, they’re moving at about a third of what you can do.”

“Wait, so if I have 500 speed and a Giant has 500 speed…”

“You’re two to three times faster in actual movement. Their 500 speed functions like our 150 to 200 at best.”

Damian absorbed that information, his mind working through the implications.

“So every race has these kinds of trade-offs?”

“Not all species, but some do have them.”

Alaric nodded as he met Damian’s eyes.

“Humans don’t have the raw advantages other species do… We’re not the strongest or the fastest or the most magically gifted. But we’re extremely balanced. We can adapt and we can learn skills and techniques that other species can’t because we’re not locked into our racial strengths.”