I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 105

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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 — Chapter 105
Inhab Office.
I was sprawled in my chair, leaning back against the full-length glass window.
Yesterday had been absolutely chaotic.
One-Color Baduk.
Press conference.
Forum discussion.
And thoughts and emotions that had descended without warning.
After it all came crashing down on me, I collapsed the moment I got home, as if unconscious.
For once, I’d slept in late and arrived at the office well past my usual time.
“……The office is more comfortable than home.”
Surprisingly, this space, this office air, felt so good.
Small and modest though it was, every time I came here, my success felt tangible against my skin.
My gaze shifted to the monitor.
I typed my name into the search bar and hit enter.
Immediately, articles about me flooded the screen.
[“Battle of the Century”…… Legend O Su 9-dan Defeated by Kuksoo Kim In-ha by Half a Stone.]
[A New Format Called One-Color Baduk…… Brings Renewed Attention to Baduk, Once Fading.]
[In the Age of AI, Human Baduk Strikes Back. Meet Kuksoo Kim In-ha. (Part 1).]
Sip.
I took a warm sip of coffee.
Then I began clicking through the articles one by one.
I read them slowly, savoring each character and sentence.
My private guilty pleasure.
Watching public reaction, quietly enjoying it.
To some it might seem childish self-searching, but for me, it was the most concrete way to feel genuine achievement.
‘I can’t stop this.’
More addictive than any drug.
My name decorating the headlines, people debating me in the comments.
Something being created because of me.
Just watching it made me so happy, so thrilled.
‘Above all…… it motivates me.’
An unremarkable university.
An ordinary resume.
No professional contempt intended, but a temporary bank security guard’s treatment and status were near the bottom of society.
Perhaps because of that, when I saw the public’s enthusiastic reaction to me, I felt alive.
More than any article.
More than any trophy.
It was the sensation that made me feel most vividly present.
Then my finger, scrolling through the mouse, stopped.
[Chinese Reporter Ranking 2nd, Jang Wi-cheon’s Comments Make Headlines. Evaluates One-Color Baduk Between O Su 9-dan and Kim In-ha 9-dan.]
Jang Wi-cheon.
I remembered him as a young player moving between China’s rankings 1 and 2.
A figure who rose sharply this year with wins in major Chinese Professional Baduk Tournaments.
However, he hadn’t been invited to the Kuksoo Championship.
At the Ciel Bank Championship, I recalled he’d been eliminated in the round of sixteen, losing by half a stone to Jeong Si-hu 9-dan.
“……I doubt he said anything nice.”
Ciel Bank Championship.
Kuksoo Championship.
Throughout both tournaments, I’d engaged in mind games with Chinese players, and public opinion in China hadn’t been favorable.
Click.
I quietly clicked on the article.
-It was remarkable baduk. A sense of opening a new frontier of baduk beyond AI. It’s not a matter of playing well or poorly. These two people played the highest baduk that humans can play.
‘What is this? Why is it… normal?’
It was unexpected.
Before suspicion came bewilderment.
Respectful language.
Measured sentences with emotions held in check.
Yet the awe hidden within them was unmistakably felt.
“Isn’t this completely…… genuine praise?”
Prejudice is a terrifying thing.
The conflict with China had been so vivid all this time.
All we’d seen was bickering, snapping at each other, harsh words drawn like blades.
In that atmosphere, there was no reason to resent him for offering such a straightforward assessment.
‘One more promising Baduk player to look forward to.’
I navigated to the website through my bookmarks.
The community reaction was even more explosive.
Not just on Baduk sites, but across social media and video platforms.
Especially the match footage with White Stones—the One-Color Baduk game—was being re-edited into shorts and spreading like wildfire.
-It’s all white. How do they even tell the difference?
-Wow…… are professional players really geniuses?
-I don’t understand any of it.
-They say professionals place stones to help non-players understand the game.
-Should we learn Baduk? It looks fun.
It was welcome news—more than any headline.
And what satisfied me most was the tone of the comments themselves.
Interest in Baduk.
Curiosity about Baduk.
Drawn toward Baduk.
I’d hoped the sluggish popularity of the game would revive, even slightly.
Beyond that, there was even an official statement from Ainex Holdings expressing satisfaction with the promotional effect of the friendly match.
They hinted they were preparing similar events for next year, suggesting additional sponsorships.
Just a friendly match.
Merely One-Color Baduk.
Yet it was a game that left me with so much.
Including a bond truly precious to me.
“……I did get invited to dinner tomorrow evening.”
O Su’s house.
I’d agreed to visit with family.
It was the first time in my life I’d received an invitation like this, so I felt a bit awkward.
But because I wanted to nurture this connection further, I’d said yes.
Then.
Beep-beep-beep.
The password was entered, and the office door swung open.
Jung Soo-yeon, the department head.
As always, she cut an elegant figure in refined, high-end business attire that drew the eye.
“You look exhausted. What’s wrong?”
Her face bore clear signs of fatigue.
She looked as though someone had worn her down completely.
She hung her coat on the rack and let out a long, heavy sigh.
“You’ve been making me so tired lately.”
“Me?”
I tilted my head in confusion.
She pulled something from her bag and set it on the desk.
A document envelope.
An unfamiliar logo was printed on it.
Beneath the moonlight, two red eagles faced each other, their talons spread as if ready to rend each other apart.
“We’ve received another sponsorship offer.”
“……Another one? Didn’t we already commit to Jinseong Group?”
Jinseong Group.
The foremost corporation in South Korea—in both name and reality.
They encompassed semiconductors, home appliances, smartphones—all manner of electronic devices—and owned sixty subsidiaries, a mega-conglomerate of staggering scale.
Just their name alone moves not only the domestic market but the global economy.
“Nothing’s certain until we sign the contract. Besides…….”
She pushed the envelope across the desk toward me.
“The terms are really good. It’s a foreign company, and it fits your image perfectly. You know Red Bull Energy Drink?”
“Red Bull…… that energy drink?”
“Yes, exactly.”
Red Bull Energy Drink was a fatigue recovery beverage.
The kind of high-caffeine drink you’d have when gaming through the night or cramming before an exam.
That’s about the extent of the image.
If you drink too much, all you remember is your heart pounding all night.
Reading my bewildered expression, Jung Soo-yeon opened her mouth.
“I know what you’re thinking. Just another caffeinated beverage, right?”
“Honestly…… yes.”
She pulled out the tablet she’d been holding and showed it to me.
“In reality, it’s a much larger company.”
The screen was filled with familiar sports logos.
Owns F1 racing teams.
Owns professional soccer clubs in Germany and Austria.
Operates esports teams and hosts global extreme sports championships.
Sells in over 170 countries worldwide.
Annual consumption of approximately ten billion units.
It was a mega-global corporation far larger than I’d imagined.
“Red Bull isn’t just selling beverages—it’s a brand that buys culture and creates sports,” Jung Soo-yeon continued.
She pressed on.
“Their brand philosophy centers on extreme challenges and performance…… they seem to want to add your intellectual, competitive image. Focus, immersion.”
Suddenly, I felt an odd chill run down my spine.
Baduk.
Archery.
Chess.
On the surface, they seemed disparate, each operating in its own realm.
But every field in which I competed—and would compete—shared a subtle grain in common.
Cerebral sport.
The solitary competitor.
The silent hunter.
In other words, they understood my value precisely and had placed their bet accordingly.
“Red Bull seems eager to finalize the contract before the Netflix Checkmate filming,” she said, her gaze dimming slightly.
She paused before continuing.
“They’ve offered top-tier terms. Annual sponsorship alone: six billion won. Two billion more than Jinseong Group.”
“……Six billion won?”
I wondered if I’d misheard.
The sum was staggering.
My grip on reality felt loose.
“And if you compete in the Chess World Championship World Cup, they’ve promised a three-billion-won bonus.”
At Jung Soo-yeon’s words, I questioned my ears again.
The World Championship.
Literally the arena that determines the world’s greatest chess player—the most prestigious stage on Earth.
The Chess World Cup and Continental Championship are the qualifying tournaments for it.
In other words, you either have to rank in the top approximately two hundred players globally, or win the championship in your respective continent to open that door.
Some might shake their head and call it nearly impossible.
But I had no doubt whatsoever.
‘……Why would I not be able to do it?’
If I lacked confidence, I wouldn’t have taken up chess in the first place.
Looking back, the world is truly unpredictable.
I happened to play Baduk.
I appeared on The Masked Singer and became the Champion.
That afterglow moved Netflix.
Before I’d even seriously begun chess, the name ‘Kim In-ha’ was already being regarded as the face of a new sports content phenomenon.
“The choice is yours, but I’d recommend the Red Bull contract,” Jung Soo-yeon said.
“Why’s that?”
“The terms are exceptional. Beyond the money, it’ll be a launching pad to elevate your brand internationally.”
Jung Soo-yeon’s preference was already clear.
All that remained was my choice.
‘No point in dragging this out, is there?’
The answer had already been decided.
A domestic company?
Patriotism?
Sorry, but I don’t have that.
Whoever recognizes my worth first and offers the finest treatment—that’s where my loyalty goes.
That’s the right answer.
This isn’t just sponsorship—it’s a partnership built on shared goals and vision.
I smiled slowly.
“Let’s go with Red Bull Energy Drink.”

* * *
Thud.
The moment I’d decided on a sponsor, Jung Soo-yeon announced she needed to handle the details and contract review, then disappeared into the conference room and shut the door.
“Several billion won……”
I still couldn’t quite believe it.
But if the money was coming in, I already knew what I wanted to do first.
‘I should move my parents first.’
I wanted to get them into a bigger, nicer place.
And I decided it was time I moved out too.
I was already thirty, after all.
I took a slow breath and reached for the mouse again.
Chess.com.
The most famous chess website in the world.
Based in North America, it’s a behemoth platform with over 300,000 concurrent players at any given time.
I entered my credentials and logged in.
-Mumyeong.
Unnamed.
The nickname I’d used since childhood.
The same account ID I’d had during the Baduk Three Kingdoms.
“Let’s see, my current rating is…… 1850.”
When I first created the account, I’d started at the beginner rating of 1600-something.
I’d been careful after the incident during Baduk Three Kingdoms, when I’d accidentally started with an amateur 2-dan account.
Then came five straight wins.
In those early games, my score had jumped by 40 to 50 points at a time, climbing to where I was now.
‘There’s still a long way to go.’
If I compared my Baduk strength to my Chess rating by feel, it came out something like this:
1400–1600 points was around 5-dan to 2-dan.
1600–1800 points was around 1-dan to amateur 1-dan.
1800–2000 points was around amateur 2-dan to amateur 4-dan.
2000–2200 points was around amateur 5-dan to amateur 7-dan.
Anything above that was in the range of a professional player who’d earned their Professional Promotion.
Just then, a notification appeared at the bottom of the screen.
[Challenge request from QueenPlease (Blitz Rating: 1792). Yes or No?]
Blitz.
In other words, Rapid Play.
Time limit: five minutes.
The format most chess players worldwide prefer.
I hit accept.
-Beep!
The chessboard appeared on screen.
I had White.
In Baduk, Black plays first, but in Chess, White moves the pieces first.
Slide.
I pushed a pawn forward.
Sicilian Defense.
One of the most widely used and theoretically refined openings.
‘The opening is…… in Baduk terms, the Opening Strategy.’
Basic tactics and direction.
Early choices shape the entire middle game.
QueenPlease responded immediately.
Knights and bishops deployed to control the center.
I secured the diagonal route and began slowly opening the queen line.
‘In Chess, control of the center is everything.’
In Baduk, the center is unstable territory.
But in Chess, it’s different.
Command of space leads directly to freedom of the pieces, and freedom of the pieces is inseparable from Move Reading.
To put it plainly: if Baduk is the art of intuition and calculation, seeing dozens of moves ahead,
then Chess is a game of logic—computing precise sequences, then branching into variations.
Click.
I develop my knight and press the center with my bishop.
My opponent responded swiftly.
His black knight swept diagonally across the board, eyeing my queen’s line as he developed.
The formal beauty of attack.
A board game with a different allure than Baduk.
This is why Chess draws people in.
‘This is fun.’
I’m not in a rush.
The position looks loose, but the current was flowing my way.
Unlike Baduk, Chess grows simpler and more transparent as pieces are traded off.
The phase where pieces thin out and you corner your opponent.
In Chess, they call this the Endgame.
‘Let me finish this in one move.’
Three pieces.
My knight, pawn, and queen all trained on the same point of his king.
A Triple Fork.
A tactic that threatens three pieces simultaneously with a single move.
My opponent hesitated, burning time.
But there was no solution.
The moment the king moves, the queen falls, and with the rook connected, the whole position crumbles.
And then.
Checkmate.
The victory message appeared.
That was the moment I saw my Blitz rating climb to 1870.
—Ding!
The opponent’s chat window lit up.
QueenPlease: Mumyeong? Are you a Go player, Kim Inha fan?
“What? You… know who I am?”
I stared blankly at the monitor.
I didn’t type a single character—just sat there, barely breathing.
‘Could they be Korean?’
There was no other way to explain it.
On a chess site where millions pass through daily, they connected me to myself based on a single nickname: “Mumyeong.”
The odds were almost miraculous.
Another message scrolled up.
QueenPlease: Or… Kim Inha?
I hesitated for a moment.
There was no need to answer.
I could just ignore them and move on.
But then.
‘Is there any reason to hide anymore?’
No reason to keep my identity secret like I used to, no reason to keep pretending and running.
I typed quietly.
Mumyeong: Yes, I’m Kim Inha

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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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