I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 104

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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 Profitable Talents — Chapter 104
“……I never thought of that.”
The Go Board lay before us, filled entirely with white stones.
O Su 9-dan pointed to the center, where the decisive turning point had unfolded.
A quiet Post-Game Review — placing stones, removing them, placing them again.
A cascade of moves that would mean nothing to the untrained eye.
But to us, it blazed with clarity.
Exactly where his finger pointed.
And which sequence could have reversed the critical mistake.
“There were no gaps, Master.”
I answered with a quiet smile.
“That was the only move I could see.”
I meant it.
O Su 9-dan’s Baduk was flawless.
From opening through middle to endgame.
He hadn’t missed a single best move.
Truly beyond reproach.
I’d played countless matches against the world’s elite, but among them all, he stood alone at the summit.
O Su 9-dan looked at me and smiled — for the first time.
So faint that had I not been watching his eyes, I might have missed it entirely.
“Well played.”
“……I learned well.”
We exchanged a light bow of mutual respect.
At that moment, a staff coordinator approached and spoke softly.
“Would you both please move to the press conference hall?”
I nodded.
Neither of us hesitated — we rose and left the studio together.
We took the elevator down to the second floor and entered the press conference hall.
The moment we took our seats, the journalists’ gazes descended like a flood.
Camera flashes erupted.
Shutter sounds so rapid they drowned out breathing.
Through it all, Moon Ga-yeon, the moderator, slowly opened her mouth.
“The New Year special match — One Color, Two Worlds. A Monocolor Go Match between legend and genius: O Su 9-dan versus Kim In-ha 9-dan. Organized by the Korea Baduk Association and hosted by Ainex Holdings. We now begin the interview with the victor, Kuksoo Kim In-ha.”
All eyes turned toward me.
“It was truly a miraculous victory. Kuksoo Kim, how do you feel?”
I steadied my breath and reached for the microphone.
“……I committed to playing Baduk without defeat as promised, and I’m grateful that effort translated into results. A victory this overwhelming — I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything like it.”
Not when I won the Ciel Bank Championship.
Not when I ascended to Kuksoo.
Never had I felt an emotion quite like this.
Though it was merely a friendly match.
I had faced a legend, and I had surpassed that legend.
Moon Ga-yeon continued with her next question.
“The Living Stone Tactic you demonstrated in the middle of the match was breathtaking. Did that move come from some particular inspiration?”
I lowered my head slightly.
After a moment’s reflection, I spoke.
“……I believe Baduk is ultimately about expression. Playing differently than others do, making new attempts, taking bold chances. That’s why I play Baduk.”
The sound of rapid keyboard typing rippled through the journalists.
A brief silence — whether it was the lingering weight of my words or simple quietude, I couldn’t tell.
Moon Ga-yeon’s gaze turned toward O Su 9-dan.
I followed her eyes.
His face remained expressionless.
His gaze distant, unmoved by victory or defeat.
“O Su 9-dan, that was a defeat by half a point. Were there any moments during the match you wish had gone differently?”
He was silent for a long time.
Stone Buddha.
Then he opened his mouth quietly.
“……There are no regrets.”
His words were terse, absolute.
An acceptance of defeat.
And then, the single sentence that followed changed every face in the room.
“It was the heaviest half-point loss of my entire life.”
The sound of journalists’ keyboards fell silent.
His words—spoken with a composure that seemed to transcend the moment—sent a shockwave through the hall.
In themselves, they testified to how precious this game had been.
He turned his head and looked at me.
“That was remarkable Baduk. I regret that we didn’t have the chance to play in the same era.”
At those words, the conference hall fell quiet again.
The sincerity in O Su’s voice was unmistakable.
And I felt exactly the same way.
“He… he knows how to perfect the canvas of Baduk into a masterpiece.”
He drew a slow breath, then continued.
“I suspect I’ll always be watching his Baduk from now on. For the first and last time, I find myself reluctant to retire.”
With that, O Su set down the microphone quietly.
Silence filled the hall.
The moderator, the organizers, the journalists—none could find words.
And neither could I.
‘……I can’t quite believe it.’
The respect directed at me was so deeply felt.
It was overwhelming, breathtaking, stirring beyond measure.
Such emotion.
Such acclaim.
Each word from the mouth of a legend etched itself deep into my chest, syllable by syllable.
Moon Ga-yeon, the commentator, turned to me.
“Kuksoo, we’d appreciate one final word from you as we close out today’s match.”
The last question.
I picked up the microphone.
There was no hesitation about what to say first.
“First, I’d like to extend my sincere gratitude to Ainex Holdings and the Korea Baduk Association for arranging this match with the legendary O Su.”
As I finished, the face of the Ainex Holdings representative brightened visibly.
In truth, I don’t know much about what kind of company Ainex Holdings is.
I’ve heard vaguely that they manufacture keyboards or headsets, something like that.
What matters is that my interview gets more views than the match itself.
I’ve heard there are many viewers who watch the live broadcast not for Baduk, but to see my interviews.
And more than anything else—
‘……these opportunities can’t disappear.’
Without sponsors like these.
Without events like this.
I would never have had the chance to face O Su.
I felt it was a necessary acknowledgment, no matter how I looked at it.
“In the finest setting, against the greatest player, I was truly honored to play the finest Baduk.”
I paused, composing myself quietly, then added my final words.
“Since the day I first picked up a stone, today has been the greatest day of my life. Thank you.”
The moment I finished, applause erupted from among the journalists.
It was for me, and it was for O Su as well.
More than that, it was applause for this Baduk itself.
“We’ll now proceed with the award ceremony and commemorative photographs. Both players, please take your positions on the platform.”
O Su and I shook hands.
It was brief, weighty, and full of sincerity.
Then came a brief award ceremony.
Commemorative photographs.
A group photo with the players at the center, flanked by officials and organizers.
Camera shutters clicked relentlessly.
In my hands was the Prize Money Board.
The amount was not large.
Five million won.
Yet this certificate in my hands meant far more than the sum.
I had unmistakably gained something.
The true goal of my Baduk.
The direction in which I must move forward.
I reminded myself once more.
‘I’ll leave behind a masterpiece game.’
My Baduk is only beginning.
This beginning is a resolve to etch itself into the annals of the age.

* * *
The friendly match exhibition concluded that way.
The Korea Baduk Association and the staff packed up and left.
But I remained.
I’d arranged a separate meeting with the journalists and held a small briefing in the preliminary match hall.
“So… what you’re saying is, you’re currently active in a field we couldn’t have predicted at all?”
I nodded.
The journalists’ eyes blazed with interest.
Their reaction was as if they’d heard something entirely unexpected.
But beneath it lay an instinctive hunger for a story.
I smiled playfully.
“I’m curious to see who figures me out first and writes the article.”
The Masked Singer is scheduled to air this coming weekend.
Only a handful of people inside that program know my identity.
I’d heard there’s been almost no advance information leaked.
‘That’s what makes it so exciting.’
Will they recognize me.
And will the name Kim In-ha come up in any way.
That would be enough.
If I could create a public impact unlike anything before.
That beginning would start with my own voice—familiar yet strange.
“How far are you planning to take this? Ha ha.”
“As far as it goes. I have things in preparation. I’ll take them on, one by one, as I’m able.”
“Your phrasing is curious. ‘As I’m able’ …”
For a moment, several journalists’ fingers paused above their keyboards.
A reaction to sensing something subtle.
I smiled quietly.
“Look into it yourselves.”
Masked Singer nickname: “Checkmate.”
A chess term.
I’d left hints about my next challenge there.
‘This should be enough.’
Just as Jung Soo-yeon, Inhahive’s strategic director, had advised.
I gave them only the direction they sought, nothing concrete.
Let them do the packaging themselves.
Entrusting it to their particular genius for expansion would be far more effective.
After the brief briefing, I quietly slipped out of the preliminary match hall.
I’d come down the stairs and was heading toward the parking lot.
In front of the first-floor souvenir shop.
O Su, the 9-dan I’d thought left earlier, was standing there.
“Ah, you’re coming down now.”
He had been waiting for me.
“Master O Su.”
Truth be told, I’d also wanted to speak with him if the chance arose.
But I hadn’t been able to initiate it myself.
Friendly match or not.
I had won, and he had lost.
Approaching after winning felt presumptuous, and I’d hesitated.
But he came to me first.
“That was impressive work.”
At those words, I reflexively bowed my head.
“What you said during the press conference… even if it was mere courtesy, I was grateful.”
He answered quietly.
“It wasn’t mere courtesy.”
His expression still scarcely changed.
Yet between those words,
an intonation that wavered faintly, a shift in the direction of his gaze.
In that space, I felt something genuine—an unexpected humanity.
Seeing me as I was, O Su spoke carefully.
“I’ve been waiting, actually, to ask when you might have some time.”
“……Time?”
He nodded.
“I’d like to invite you. To my home.”
“Your……home?”
For a moment, I found myself taken aback.
He wore an expression that might have been amusement, very subtly.
“Yes. I’d like to speak with Kim, too. And I have a family member who’s a great admirer of yours.”
“……I see.”
Then it became clear.
It wasn’t just the lingering warmth of a match—something extended beyond it.
Though it was only one game of Baduk.
The fact that he had truly embraced my Baduk and accepted who I was as a person.
In the moment I understood that, something quiet and warm kindled inside.
I answered with equal sincerity.
“Yes. I’ll make the time.”

* * *
Inhahive office.
Jung Soo-yeon, the director, sat motionless before her laptop, her eyes fixed on the Go board.
“……I really can’t make sense of it, no matter how I look.”
A post-game review screen filled entirely with white stones.
Within it, Kim In-ha and O Su were quietly exchanging something.
White stones whose very form was indistinguishable from one another.
The two of them picked up stones and placed them down again with complete ease, reorganizing as they went.
She murmured in admiration.
“It’s amazing that you can know all of that……which is partly why I chose you anyway.”
Then it happened.
Her smartphone on the desk rang.
Netflix.
Jung Soo-yeon narrowed her eyes and answered at once.
“Yes, this is Jung Soo-yeon.”
She paused for a moment, focusing on the voice from the other end of the line.
Her eyes deepened.
“……You’ve decided on the player who will appear alongside In-ha?”
Moreover, as a second partner who would also handle In-ha’s chess coaching.
A live coach who accompanies the player at chess tournaments and world championships.
A partner who assists in analysis and strategy, and shares both travel and daily life.
A trustworthy dedicated partner and mentor to supplement In-ha’s limited practical chess experience.
“Yes. Her name is……Sara Linova?”
Jung Soo-yeon immediately typed the name into the search bar.
Moments later, her eyes widened slightly as images filled the screen.
A face like a Hollywood actress.
Asian and Russian heritage.
Brown hair and cool-toned skin.
A visual presence that wouldn’t falter before a chessboard or a camera.
And beneath it, a single line.
“……Grandmaster?”
In Baduk terms, Master at 9-dan.
The highest title awarded by the International Chess Federation, which only a handful of chess players in the world receive.
A qualification recognized solely through skill.
A realm that only the very best of the world’s elite can reach.
Even Jung Soo-yeon, who knew little about chess, could tell this was no ordinary person.
“So……that person wants to play chess with In-ha, is that right?”
Jung Soo-yeon’s brow furrowed slightly.
Unlike Baduk, Kim In-ha was nearly unknown in chess.
And an intention to ‘confirm’ that possibility in Kim In-ha.
Perhaps she simply wanted to know directly whether she was someone worthy of standing at the same table as he was.
‘Compose yourself.’
Jung Soo-yeon took a short, steadying breath.
An unexpected proposal.
But if there was one thing she knew about Kim In-ha, it was that he wouldn’t hesitate in a moment like this.
“Understood. Please arrange the schedule.”
A Grandmaster against a Master.
She too had grown curious about that match.

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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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