I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 101

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Too Many Money-Making Talents — Episode 101
Korea Baduk Association.
It had been far too long since I’d set foot here.
After the Kuksoo match, once most of the official tournaments and leagues wrapped up, I’d stopped coming.
‘It’s definitely more comfortable than the broadcast station.’
The old building’s distinctive smell, the air that settled the mind into calm.
It felt like coming home.
Perhaps it was because this was my primary job.
This place was still a world centered on Baduk, and it was where I belonged as a professional Baduk player.
‘There are a lot of people.’
Despite being an exhibition match, the entrance was already crowded.
Staff, journalists, sponsors’ representatives.
Among them were media outlets unrelated to Baduk.
As journalists who’d spotted me rushed over, I gave a slight bow and spoke.
“I’ll do the interview a bit later. I’m planning to take all the questions you have.”
The sponsors had requested as much exposure as possible for publicity purposes.
After explaining that sufficiently, as I was heading up to the second floor, a familiar voice called from behind.
“In-ha!”
A cheerful voice came from the back.
It was Min-ho, from the Gisung Research Group.
“What brings you here?”
Today was January 1st.
New Year’s Day.
In other words, a public holiday.
Both research students and professional players had no matches today.
Min-ho grinned and spoke.
“Why else? I came to review the match between you and O Su. The one that just happened.”
“……Post-game review?”
“Yes. And there are quite a few professional players here. If you count the research students too, there must be around twenty of us.”
“That many?”
I was slightly taken aback.
After all, it was just an exhibition match.
Besides, this was the AI era.
Artificial intelligence provided the correct answers in Baduk, and humans followed suit.
Even without gathering together to review, Baduk was something anyone could study alone.
Yet this many had assembled, which meant that today’s match held real significance.
Min-ho bowed his head slightly and spoke quietly.
“You should brace yourself today, I think.”
“Why?”
“I heard recently that O Su came to the research group and went undefeated in eleven matches.”
“……All eleven?”
“Yes. Kim Eun-woo was among them, I heard.”
My eyes widened without thinking.
Kim Eun-woo, 9-dan.
Consistently ranked second in domestic Baduk.
A top-tier player I couldn’t confidently say I could beat even right now.
That O Su, who’d been retired for years, had defeated him.
It felt unreal.
“Even I didn’t believe it at first. But…… it’s O Su we’re talking about. He’s not called the Divine Calculator for nothing.”
Divine Calculator.
A realm beyond mere strength, beyond reach.
Chinese Baduk, which had dominated the world’s Baduk scene, fell into a long dark age the moment O Su appeared.
The player who stood alone at the top and commanded Baduk history itself.
That’s why people naturally say he’d be among the world’s elite players even if he returned to competition now.
“Please beat him, if you can. It’s an exhibition match, but…… I’m a fan of yours.”
“Thanks.”
Min-ho waved and entered the match room.
Through the half-open doorway, I could see inside.
‘……This is real.’
Professional players were sitting in small groups beside the Go Board, laptops open.
A quiet tension filled the air, like the hush before a championship finals.
I smiled softly to myself.
The dignity of O Su, 9-dan.
The admiration I held for him.
I accepted with genuine pleasure the fact that I—this self of mine—would soon face him across the board.
Bang.
The moment the game room door closed behind me, I turned without hesitation and walked away.
My destination was the Korea Baduk Association office.
“Excuse me.”
As I opened the door, Lee Sang-woo, the Association’s secretary-general, rose to greet me warmly.
“Ah, Kuksoo! Please, come have a seat.”
I accepted his gesture and sat on the sofa.
“How are you feeling today? Playing against a legend—aren’t you nervous?”
“Well… it’s an honor, so I’m trying to enjoy it.”
“Ha. That’s just like you, Kuksoo.”
After a few pleasantries, we moved straight to business.
“About the international tournament in Japan I mentioned last time—the World Nichirenhai.”
“Yes.”
“Despite some difficulties, it’s finally been confirmed to take place.”
The World Nichirenhai Tournament.
A new world baduk championship from Japan that inherited the spirit and tradition of the old Fujitsu Cup.
It was scheduled for mid-month but had been on the brink of cancellation due to sponsorship troubles.
And now, it had risen again.
“We were fortunate. Though the Yomiuri Shimbun withdrew, Japan’s largest automotive company, Kosho, announced it would maintain its position as the main sponsor.”
I recalled what Jung Soo-yeon had mentioned.
How Kosho, which primarily produced hybrid vehicles, would be launching full-fledged electric cars this time.
They planned to use baduk—a symbol of tradition and craftsmanship—as a promotional tool in China and Korea.
“And without change, you and Jeong Si-hu have been invited.”
The Nichirenhai positioned itself as an invitation-only tournament for the world’s elite players.
Only sixteen top players holding national titles or recommended by their associations could receive invitations to the World Nichirenhai.
“What’s the schedule?”
“As planned, mid-month. Since it’s an invitational, the schedule might be a bit tight.”
“That’s fine. It’s nothing unusual for me.”
I’d need to juggle my schedule, certainly.
The Legendary Game commentary recording.
My enrollment in the national team’s winter training camp.
And filming for the Netflix project “Checkmate.”
‘…Well, Soo-yeon will sort it all out, I’m sure.’
At times like this, I’m grateful to be in the same boat as Jung Soo-yeon.
“I wish you the best in today’s game. Personally, I’m greatly looking forward to it.”
“Thank you.”
I bowed and left the office.
In that moment, a face came to mind.
Someone who knew how to smile with the purest of expressions.
Yu Jeuh-ha.
‘…I wonder how she’s doing.’
The handwritten letter she’d sent me through a Japanese player at the time of the National Kuksoo Championship.
A few brief greetings in broken Japanese, followed by a final line written out with careful precision.
—Please contact me when you come to Japan.
I remembered standing there in a daze for a long time after reading that letter.
Her heart, confused and troubled.
Not forced words, but sincere ones spoken hesitantly and with care.
That sentence, perhaps written with trembling fingertips.
‘She said she definitely wanted to meet and apologize.’
That letter still rests deep in my drawer.
Perhaps that moment—the moment to face her heart—was drawing near.
Creak.
I passed a Korea Baduk Association staff member coming out of the office.
“Kuksoo! The press conference is about to begin.”
I nodded and moved forward.
At that moment, beyond the landing, someone was ascending through a barrage of camera flashes.
O Su, 9-dan.
An impression that evoked a model more readily than a Baduk professional.
Tall frame, tailored suit crisp against his shoulders,
A face that belied his late-forties age.
Had I passed him on the street, I might have placed him in his mid-to-late thirties.
But what struck me most
was the utter steadiness in his expression, unmoved by the journalists’ gaze.
Despite nearly a decade away from the board, he seemed composed, almost serene.
No—there was an understated ease that clung to his expressionless face.
In that instant,
“……!”
O Su’s eyes found me.
A very brief silence.
Without hesitation, he walked toward me.
“You’re Kuksoo Kim In-ha, aren’t you? Pleased to meet you. I’m O Su.”
“Ah, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m Kim In-ha.”
I took the hand he offered first.
Almost by instinct, I bowed my head slightly.
Not from being overwhelmed by his presence.
It was courtesy toward a legend who had recognized me and extended his greeting first.
And respect for the achievements he’d accumulated in the Baduk world throughout his life.
Shutters erupted in succession.
“I’ve been watching your career with great interest. I’m looking forward to our game today.”
“For my part, I hope to learn much from you.”
O Su smiled quietly, nodded, and entered the press conference hall first.
I steadied my breath and followed him in.
As I took my seat, a banner hanging above my head caught my eye.
—New Year’s Special Match: One Color, Two Worlds
A Monocolor Go Match between legend and prodigy—O Su, 9-dan, versus Kim In-ha, 9-dan.
Sponsor: Ainex Holdings
In front, cameras and more than twenty journalists were arrayed.
Shortly after, the press conference began with remarks from Moon Ga-yeon, the moderator.
“The Korea Baduk Association is hosting, with Ainex Holdings as sponsor, this New Year’s Special Match. A truly historic event match is about to unfold. Let’s hear from both players about their feelings facing each other today.”
The microphone was given to me first.
“For me, it feels like playing against ‘living history.’ Though it’s a friendly match, I see this as a place where my Baduk will be tested. I’ll play with that in mind.”
Then O Su picked up the microphone calmly.
A faint smile rested on his face.
“Kuksoo Kim In-ha is a fine junior and a skilled professional in the Baduk world. I’m grateful to have discovered such talent at this stage of my life, and to play like this.”
The atmosphere was warm and cordial.
As befitted a friendly match, there were no harsh words.
Moderator Moon Ga-yeon continued.
“O Su, for you this is your first match after a long retirement, and it’s a Monocolor Go match. Of course it’s unlikely, but… you won’t have any confusion, will you?”
“The color of the stones may change, but the color of the moves does not. I’ll repay the viewers’ expectations with good Baduk.”
Several more questions followed.
After a few more exchanges, my turn came around again.
“Do you have any prediction about the direction of today’s match?”
“I’d say fifty-one to forty-nine.”
“In your favor, naturally?”
“I’ll have no comment on that.”
I smiled faintly.
“Do you have any specially prepared strategy for today?”
“I’ll play the Baduk I’ve always played, with the intention to learn. Baduk that doesn’t lose.”
At those words, shutters detonated like an explosion.
The quote the journalists were hungry for.
Confidence toward a legend.
At that moment, wasn’t a headline being captured to grace tomorrow’s papers.
The press conference wrapped up, and O Su and I stood.
We rose side by side and stood beneath the central banner.
Facing forward for the commemorative photograph.
Then I made my way down to the first-floor Go studio.
I took my seat before the Go Board positioned at the center of the room.
‘This is it.’
A quiet stillness.
Light poured down, yet it was different from stage lighting.
No cheers, no music.
But here, there was a silence that roared without sound.
The tension of a hush that struck at the heart.
‘I’ll win.’
Whether this was a friendly match didn’t matter.
My opponent was a legend—O Su, 9-dan.
Retired or not, he wasn’t someone you could beat with half-hearted resolve.
But this was a good opportunity to measure my current strength against what I had been.
The signal came to begin the game.
I quietly opened my Go Stone Container.
White stones.
According to the rules of this match, we both used white stones.
The same color, but distinguished by turn order and placement—Monocolor Go.
‘…No problem there.’
When I first learned Go, I wondered how anyone could remember so many moves,
but that’s nothing to me now.
I remember by sequence and pattern, not by stone color.
‘I’ll be white.’
The colors had been determined beforehand by stone selection at the Korea Baduk Association.
After exchanging formal greetings, the game began.
Tap.
O Su’s opening move.
Small Point Opening, upper right.
I took a brief breath to center myself and placed my next move on a Star Point.
Tap.
White stones for me as well.
‘It’s strange, though.’
Unfamiliar, this Monocolor Go.
But I quickly focused and adapted.
The opening strategy unfolded rapidly.
Just after dividing the four corners, O Su played a 3-3 Invasion.
After the standard sequence, I used Two-Space Reinforcement instead of a hook, then gracefully seized the large territory.
I was a little startled.
‘…Is he really retired?’
The opening unfolds smoothly and with perfect refinement.
Each move falls into place with precision.
Woven through it, AI joseki and the latest theory.
He didn’t know these things merely in theory.
The feel of intuition honed through countless hours of study and repeated live matches.
‘This isn’t just imitation.’
His Baduk was completely embodied.
Each move carried its own vitality, and beyond Move Reading, I could sense something deeper—pure instinct.
I was certain.
O Su wasn’t merely a retired legend.
In this very moment, he was a living player.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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