As A Mafia Boss, I Refuse To Be An Extra - Chapter 319: Some Things Never Change
By morning, the entire city knew something catastrophic had happened.
Police headquarters worked through the night, piecing together witness reports and crime scene evidence.
A strange pattern had emerged over the past few months, sightings of masked figures in combat gear, their faces hidden behind creepy white masks with permanent grins carved into them.
Every digital trace of this group seemed to vanish, surveillance footage corrupted or mysteriously deleted, electronic records disappearing as though they’d never existed.
If not for terrified witnesses, the police wouldn’t even know such an organization existed.
The detention center massacre provided their first concrete lead. Escaped prisoners, when captured, all told the same story about masked men breaking in to rescue someone Officer James Davies had arrested.
The brutal slaughter of every officer on duty filled investigators with rage, but the Shadow Council symbol painted across the walls raised immediate suspicion.
The SC didn’t operate like this. One detective made the connection after reviewing Ming’s file, the rescued suspect whose family had died in an SC bombing months ago.
Then reports flooded in about simultaneous killings across the city, all marked with the same SC symbol.
And the devastating fight involving A rank snipers that had turned a residential neighborhood into a warzone with multiple civilian casualties.
The pattern became clear. Two criminal organizations were at war, and one of them was actively hunting the Shadow Council.
Everything was reported to the Mayor. What decisions were made behind closed doors remained unknown.
But headquarters released a public statement about the mass prison break and officer deaths. Information about the attacks across the city and the high-rank awakener battle.
The Shadow Council’s name resurfaced alongside a new designation for the masked attackers.
The Smiling Death Syndicate.
Public reaction was immediate and divided. This new organization was somehow more brutal than the SC, slaughtering police officers just because one of their members had been captured.
But others felt relieved that someone was actively targeting the Shadow Council, a threat the authorities had failed to eliminate for years.
Arguments erupted across news channels and social media about whether these masked vigilantes were heroes or monsters.
Police urged anyone with information about either organization to come forward immediately.
****
Several hours into the next day, Damian opened his eyes in the Northern Mafia’s hidden base.
His body still ached from internal injuries that hadn’t fully healed, but the worst of the damage had been repaired.
He sat up slowly, running his self-healing skill one more time to accelerate the recovery process.
Around him, the core members had gathered. Brian lay on a medical cot while a healer worked on sealing his more serious wounds, healing potions arranged on a nearby table.
Ming sat against the wall, still weak and injured but alive.
Everyone else stood in a loose circle, their expressions grim as they processed what had happened.
Damian stood, testing his legs. The new suit he’d changed into fit perfectly, replacing the blood-soaked combat gear from last night.
“That skill is amazing.”
Brian’s voice was rough as he watched Damian move without apparent difficulty.
“Simple, but it keeps you alive when nothing else will.”
Damian paused, his mind wandering to a certain memory.
’Even Vash didn’t have a self-healing skill before.’
He made a decision.
His hand moved to his communication device, accessing the Mafia channel.
A few taps, and he uploaded the complete details of his self-healing skill into a restricted file.
Notifications pinged across every member’s device simultaneously.
People pulled out their phones, confusion crossing their faces before shifting to shock.
“Is this…”
“He just shared a self-healing skill with everyone?”
“Wait, there’s a restriction on it. We can’t access the details yet.”
“It says here… available upon reaching B rank. Gia will automatically grant access when the condition is met.”
The room fell into stunned silence as everyone processed what this meant.
Damian’s voice cut through the quiet.
“Anyone who reaches B rank will receive full access to the skill automatically through Gia’s system. There will be no exceptions or delays. The moment you hit that threshold, it’s yours.”
He looked around the room, meeting each person’s eyes.
“There’s also a contract attached. You can’t teach it to anyone outside the organization. Gia’s restriction protocols will enforce that.”
Complex expressions spread across every face. This was both incredibly generous and brutally pragmatic.
A self-healing skill was rare enough that most awakeners would never have access to one, but Damian had just dangled it in front of them with a clear condition attached.
Get stronger, or watch others benefit while you stay weak.
The healer pulled up the restricted file on her device, seeing only the basic description without the actual technique details.
“Even without seeing the full information, I can tell this is valuable. A self-sufficient healing skill that doesn’t require outside assistance? Most combat awakeners would kill for something like this.”
She looked at Damian.
“You’re really just giving it away to anyone who reaches B rank?”
“Yes.”
His tone made it clear the decision was final.
“It’s not charity, it’s an investment. I need strong members, not dead ones. If offering this skill motivates people to train harder and advance faster, then everyone benefits.”
He paused, his crimson eyes sweeping across the gathered members.
“I’m heading back to the estate. All of you should stop targeting the SFD for now. Focus on improving yourselves instead.”
His voice became harder and colder.
“We need B rank and A rank members. Anything below that seems pretty useless against what we’re actually facing.”
The room fell silent, everyone understanding the implicit message.
The gap between ranks wasn’t just numerical, it was the difference between being relevant in combat and being a liability.
Suddenly, Damian’s expression shifted slightly.
“Also, does someone have a phoenix bottle?”
People looked at him confused.
“You mean the alcohol?”
“Yeah.”
Someone handed him an expensive-looking bottle of liquor.
Damian took it without comment, tucking it into his spatial ring.
“Good… Don’t do anything stupid until you’re strong enough.”
He left without waiting for responses.
Behind him, the Mafia members stared at their devices, at the locked self-healing skill file that promised power if they could just reach the threshold.
The race to B rank had officially begun.
****
That evening, Damian entered the Valcor estate completely drunk, stumbling slightly as the phoenix bottle’s contents worked through his system.
His parents were waiting in the main hall, their expressions a mixture of concern and suspicion given the previous night’s city-wide chaos.
“I… was with… Brian.”
Damian’s words slurred just slightly.
“Catching up… Lots to talk about.”
Lyandra’s eyes narrowed.
She turned to Luna, who had appeared at the commotion.
“Luna. Tell me if he’s lying.”
Luna’s silver eyes met Damian’s crimson ones for a fraction of a second.
Then she looked at her mother with a completely innocent expression, her face showing nothing but simple honesty.
“He’s telling the truth, Mom.”
The lie came out so naturally that even Alaric’s experienced perception couldn’t detect the deception.
Lyandra and Alaric exchanged a long look, clearly unconvinced but lacking concrete proof.
They said nothing more, though suspicion lingered in their eyes.
Instead, Lyandra turned her attention to her husband, her voice taking on a sharp edge.
“Alaric Valcor, did you turn our son into a drunkard?!”
Alaric’s stern face immediately shifted to something resembling panic.
“I didn’t, I swear! This is all Brian’s influence! That guy–”
“Don’t blame Brian for your terrible parenting decisions!”
Damian escaped upstairs while his parents argued, Luna following him with a small smile playing at her lips.
Behind them, the sound of Lyandra scolding Alaric echoed through the estate, the mighty legend reduced to apologizing profusely to his wife.
Some things never changed.
