As A Mafia Boss, I Refuse To Be An Extra

Damian thought about the Giants he’d killed in that first portal and about how overwhelmingly strong they’d been.

“And then S rank changes everything?”

“Indeed.”

Alaric’s voice took on a teaching tone.

“When your Aura core breaks through to S rank, your entire status screen transforms. The earlier numerical system can’t contain what you’ve become.”

“How does it work?”

“Three steps. First, every stat gets divided by 100. So if you had 600 strength, it becomes 6.”

Damian frowned.

“That sounds weaker.”

“That’s step one. Step two is the ascension boost… That divided number doubles. So 6 becomes 12.”

“Still seems…”

“Step three is the quality shift. Each S rank point isn’t equal to 100 lower-rank points. It’s a fundamentally different strength. In actual combat, one S rank point feels like a thousand regular points. Maybe more.”

Alaric met his eyes.

“Someone who enters S rank with a strength of 12 can casually destroy someone with A rank strength of 800. Not because the numbers say so, but because S rank power operates on a completely different level.”

Damian was quiet for a moment, processing.

“So the stats you have when you ascend…”

“Determine everything.”

Alaric’s voice became harder.

“Your entry value for each stat sets your maximum ceiling at S rank. Whatever you enter with gets multiplied by ten to find your cap.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, let’s say if you rush to S rank with stats around 450, you enter with a value of 9 after the conversion. And your maximum potential becomes 90. You’ll never grow beyond that no matter how much you train or fight.”

Alaric leaned forward.

“But if you spend years building your stats to 800 before ascending, you enter with 16 and cap at 160. Your ceiling is almost double. The foundation you build at A rank carries forward for the rest of your existence.”

The weight of that statement settled over Damian.

“So rushing to S rank…”

“Is the worst mistake an awakener can make. You gain immediate power but permanently cripple your potential. Every stat is calculated independently too. You might have high strength but weak speed, and those different ceilings stay with you forever.”

Damian looked down at his hands, thinking about his current stats.

“S rank growth is also brutally slow,” Alaric continued. “Going from 10 to 11 at S-rank is equivalent to gaining 100 full stat points at A rank. It takes years of constant combat and training for tiny improvements.”

“So currently…”

“Currently, you’re very weak.”

Alaric said it bluntly, without cruelty.

“But for a sixteen-year-old, you’re already past your peers by a long mile. Your foundation is solid, your physical stats are approaching 600 and if you keep building before you ascend…”

He smiled slightly.

“You’ll enter S rank with better numbers than most awakeners manage in their entire lives.”

Alaric stood up and waved his hand as another potion flew toward Damian.

“Heal up completely. We’re doing this again tomorrow.”

“Again?”

“Every day until you can land a clean hit on me.”

Alaric headed toward the door.

“Might take a while though.”

Then he was gone, leaving Damian alone in the training room.

Damian caught the potion and drank it, feeling his remaining injuries fade. His self-healing skill had already done most of the work, but the potion helped with the deeper tissue damage.

’I need to build my foundation before ascending. And get as close to 1000 as possible in every stat.’

The plan was clear and the path was long. But at least he understood what he needed to do now.

“You’re too weak… too slow… worthless…”

Nera’s whisper crept in at the edge of his thoughts.

Damian shook his head sharply, forcing the hallucination away.

“Not now.”

He stood up and headed out of the training room, his mind already working through training regimens and growth strategies.

The whispers could wait.

****

[Northern Region – Norrington City – Mafia Headquarters]

The old garage that had once been a makeshift meeting place had transformed into something far more substantial.

Brian Oleaf stood in what could only be called a proper headquarters now. Training equipment lined one wall, weapons and armor another. Potions in organized crates, tactical maps spread across tables and communication devices set up in a corner.

Around twenty men filled the space, most of them leaning against walls or sitting on crates, all of them carrying themselves like soldiers rather than normal civilians.

Nine of them were survivors from that first portal alongside Damian. Men who’d seen him kill hundreds of Giants and who’d watched him descend into something barely human to keep them alive.

Marcus Feng stood next to Brian, his businessman exterior completely gone now. He wore tactical gear like the others, his posture straight.

Isaac Reeves and Thoman Kane were nearby, both of them looking harder than they had months ago. Regular combat had stripped away whatever softness they’d carried.

Every other man beside them in this room had one thing in common.

They’d all lost family to the Shadow Council.

And they’d all sworn to make those bastards pay.

Brian had trained them personally, using his SFD experience and the resources Damian’s network provided. They weren’t playing at being a mafia.

They were hunters.

The goal of the Northern Mafia branch was simple and brutal. They didn’t care about money or territory or influence.

They existed to destroy the Shadow Council.

Every man here was at least C- rank in strength. The ones scattered throughout Norrington and the surrounding towns were similarly capable but were not yet at C rank.

Gia hid their operations, making them ghosts that the Shadow Council couldn’t track.

But tonight, there was a problem.

Marcus held a stack of reports, his face grim as he detailed losses.

“We lost three men in the raid on the warehouse district. Shadow Council had it better defended than our intelligence suggested.”

Brian’s expression didn’t change. He’d become cold over the past few months, the honest SFD officer who spoke of justice and righteousness replaced by something harder.

He’d personally killed dozens of Shadow Council operatives… Brutally, efficiently and without hesitation.

“And one of our men was taken,” Marcus continued. “Police picked him up two days ago. We think his mask slipped during the raid. Someone saw his face.”

The room went quiet.

“Who?” Brian’s voice was flat.

“Ming. The recruit from three months ago, the one who lost his wife and daughter to an SC bombing.”

“…Where is he being held?”

“City police headquarters… Central detention.”

Brian said nothing for a long moment, his massive frame completely still.

Then he spoke, his voice carrying to every man in the room.

“Make sure support is sent to all the remaining families of the men who died. And for their safety, move every family member to Norrington.”

Marcus nodded and made notes.

“Boss, there’s another issue.”

“What?”

“The police officer who made the arrest… we’ve been tracking him. He’s got connections to three different people we’ve identified as Shadow Council affiliates.”

Brian’s jaw tightened.

“…You’re saying the police are compromised.”

“From the pattern we’ve observed, Shadow Council members infiltrate everything. Every operative we’ve caught has had a separate public identity. Government workers, business owners, teachers… some of them are probably in the police as well.”

The weight of that statement settled over the room.

Nobody said anything for a long moment, the implications clear.

The police in every city were under the strict control of the mayor.

And Mayors were like local rulers, managing their cities and collecting taxes for the Federation. As long as management was good and taxes were paid on time, the Federation left them alone.

There were over a hundred cities in the Northern Region and thousands of towns and villages. Each mayor controlled not just their city but the surrounding settlements as well.

Going after the Shadow Council was one thing.

But going against the government directly was something else entirely.

“We’ve never moved against official authorities before,” one of the men spoke up. “If we start killing police officers…”

“It’s declaring war on the system itself,” another finished.

Marcus looked at Brian, waiting for direction.

“What do you think we should do?”

Brian opened his mouth to respond–

Footsteps echoed from the entrance.

Every man in the room tensed, hands moving toward weapons.

The door opened.

And a figure entered wearing a completely black suit, a fedora hat pulled low, and dark glasses that hid his eyes. The presence radiating from him was intense even before he removed the glasses.