I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 111

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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 111
Kansai International Airport.
I descended from the plane, went through immigration, and emerged into the arrival hall.
Japanese soil beneath my feet for the first time in my life.
Even the air felt different against my skin.
‘……Not that cold, actually.’
There was no harsh winter chill.
Japan’s winter weather was definitely milder than Korea’s.
“They’re waiting over there.”
Outside the terminal.
A shuttle bus arranged by the Nichirenhai organizers stood ready.
Jeong Si-hu, a Korea Baduk Association staff member, and myself.
The three of us boarded the vehicle together.
After driving for a while, as we entered Osaka proper, the scenery beyond the window transformed.
Unfamiliar signage.
Alien streets.
A quiet, arid urban landscape.
I fell silent, my gaze fixed on the world outside the window.
Then the Korea Baduk Association staff member in the front seat turned around.
“Once you arrive at the hotel, you can check in first and unpack at your own pace. The pairing ceremony begins at two o’clock this afternoon, so please make sure to be at the Convention Hall on the first floor by 1:40 at the latest.”
“Understood.”
“Yes.”
Jeong Si-hu and I nodded simultaneously.
After passing through central Osaka, the vehicle arrived at our destination: the Osaka Grand Hotel.
The first-floor lobby harmonized classical chandeliers with modern sofas.
Beyond that, a Japanese traditional garden caught the eye.
A space where tradition and modernity coexisted.
It was also a hotel owned by Kosho, the automotive company that sponsored Nichirenhai.
Hosting the tournament here was itself a deliberate choice to showcase their philosophy, or so I’d heard.
After checking in, I followed the hotel staff’s guidance to my room.
The moment the door opened, I set down my suitcase and went straight to the window.
“Oh.”
In the distance beyond the glass, Osaka Castle rose into view.
Like an ancient ink-wash painting.
Without thinking, I found myself holding my breath, gazing at the sight before me.
“……It’s beautiful.”
A quiet murmur escaped my lips.
Having only just arrived in Japan, I felt Korea shrink small for the first time in my life.
More cities.
More people.
And infinite possibilities.
Standing before this vista, my whole being suddenly grasped the reality of a much larger world.
I slowly pulled out my smartphone and took a selfie with Osaka Castle in the background.
‘I’ve arrived safely.’
I sent the photo to my parents along with a text message.
“I should change into something appropriate.”
I unpacked slowly, then put on a dress shirt and formal suit.
Attire befitting the official occasion.
Standing before the mirror, I adjusted my clothes and drew a deep breath.
Taking the elevator down to the first-floor lobby, I found directional signs posted.
Following the arrows, I made my way to the Convention Hall entrance.
Many people were already gathered.
Journalists from various countries, organizers, and invited professional players.
When I arrived among them, several gazes turned toward me.
“There’s an interview request. Would you come this way for a moment, please?”
The Korea Baduk Association staff member appeared from nowhere and guided me toward the photo wall.
As I took my place, all the lenses beneath the lights turned toward me.
“As an amateur, you achieved victory at an international tournament in the shortest possible time, and now you’ve been invited to Nichirenhai. How do you feel?”
The question came from a Japanese journalist.
The Korea Baduk Association staff member quietly interpreted for me.
“As an amateur, you won the international championship in record time… and now you’ve been invited to the Nichirenhai. How are you feeling about it all?”
A familiar question.
But hearing it in a foreign tongue, on a foreign stage, it felt different.
“Excited, and full of anticipation. It’s my first time playing Baduk on foreign soil, after all.”
A staff member from the Korea Baduk Association translated my words into Japanese.
Another question followed immediately after.
“Are you familiar with Fujisaki Yuya, a 9-dan Professional Go Player from Japan?”
“Yes, we faced each other in the Ciel Bank Championship last season. I understand him to be a player with a refined style of Baduk.”
As my answer was relayed through the interpreter, the journalist nodded.
“Could you elaborate a bit more on his style of play?”
For a moment, I hesitated.
Fujisaki’s Baduk, hmm…
‘I don’t know it in detail.’
The mainstream of world Baduk belongs to Korea and China.
There was an era when Japan’s classical, textbook style of Baduk flourished, but those days are long past.
Since the age of AI, Baduk has evolved to become far more aggressive and multidimensional.
Japan, by comparison, clings relatively to tradition.
To be honest, I’ve never studied his game records in depth.
He’s certainly a talented player.
But fighting against the elite players of Korea and China naturally pushed him down my priority list.
“…I apologize. I haven’t studied Fujisaki’s style deeply enough. But if the opportunity arises, I’d very much like to experience it firsthand.”
I spoke nothing but the truth.
I meant no disrespect, no intention to diminish him or flaunt my own strength.
I simply answered honestly, as respectfully and earnestly as I could.
I felt the light in the eyes of several Japanese journalists shift.
A subtle current.
The Korea Baduk Association staff member wrapped things up.
“Thank you. We’ll end the questions here.”
I bowed lightly and stepped away from the photo wall.
The shutter clicks that followed echoed softly in my wake.
As I entered the convention hall, many players had already arrived.
Jeong Si-hu, a 9-dan, looked up and noticed me.
“You’re here? Come sit over here.”
He gestured to the empty seat beside him, and I nodded, settling in.
The convention hall had an air of refined, restrained elegance.
Large panels stood like folding screens, simple lighting, the gentle flow of traditional Japanese music.
Among all this, I could see players invited from various countries.
‘…Wait. Who is that?’
A familiar face caught my attention.
Sharp, distinct features.
Hair cut short and neat.
‘Zhang Weichain, 9-dan.’
Ranked second in Chinese Baduk.
China’s top player who surged to prominence this year.
His skill matches that of Lu Chuiyuan and Ci Hao without any gap.
What’s more frightening is that he’s still a rising talent, still improving.
“There’s Fujisaki, 9-dan, too.”
Following Jeong Si-hu’s gaze, I spotted a young player.
Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan.
The centerpiece of this tournament and the hope of Japanese Baduk.
At the Ciel Bank Championship, I hadn’t had time to observe him properly, but this was different.
A composed presence.
Dignified and quiet in bearing.
A man who radiated an impression as refined as Baduk itself.
And beyond him, there were several unfamiliar faces.
What particularly caught my attention was a Western player.
‘A foreigner?’
Since Baduk is so centered on East Asia, his presence felt distinctly out of place.
“That’s Mateuki Kaminski. A player from Poland.”
“Poland?”
“Yes. He’s the European Champion and a 2-dan Professional with the European Go Federation. And I heard he also competes as a chess player. A FIDE Master, I think?”
“……A FIDE Master?”
My eyes widened.
Grandmaster.
International Master.
And below that, FIDE Master.
In official rating terms, that’s roughly 2300 points.
“Don’t underestimate him. He made it to the Round of 16 in the Ciel Bank main tournament two years ago.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the man.
Casual formal attire.
Hair with a certain carefree quality.
‘I want to play him.’
I was intensely curious what kind of Baduk someone who also played chess would display.
After that, Jeong Si-hu introduced me to several more players.
Ryan Lee, a Chinese-American, 3-dan.
An MIT graduate with the unique background of having participated in a joint Baduk AI research project.
And Su Yao-xun, a top-tier Professional from Taiwan, 9-dan.
All unfamiliar names and records to me.
Yet that unfamiliarity brought not displeasure, but a strange anticipation.
The opening ceremony began with the moderator’s clear voice.
“We now begin the opening ceremony of the first Nichirenhai World Baduk Invitational Tournament, where tradition and modernity converge.”
Welcoming remarks, tournament introductions, and congratulatory messages followed in an unfamiliar language.
Soon after came the highlight of the ceremony: the pairing draw.
On stage, numbered balls drawn from a traditional box.
“Kim In-ha, 9-dan.”
My name was called in an unfamiliar accent.
I rose slowly and made my way to the stage.
I placed my hand in the traditional box and carefully drew out one ball.
“……8.”
The moderator announced it in Japanese.
“Number 8, Kim In-ha, 9-dan!”
Applause erupted.
An official affixed my nameplate to spot 8 on the large tournament bracket on the wall.
‘Let me see, my first opponent is…….’
Mateuki Kaminski, 2-dan, who had drawn number 9 before me.
The European Champion who pursued both Baduk and chess.
He was no easy opponent, but it was a fascinating matchup I’d been hoping for.
Next.
“Jeong Si-hu, 9-dan. Please come forward.”
He ascended the stage and drew a ball.
Then he held it up slowly to the camera.
10.
In that instant, the air in the hall seemed to ripple slightly.
Several players let out quiet murmurs of admiration and relief, and an official’s eyebrows rose.
Bracket 8 and bracket 10.
If we both advanced past the Round of 16, Jeong Si-hu and I would meet in the Quarterfinals.
‘It’s here.’
In this unfamiliar Japanese land.
The long-awaited encounter with the world’s top-ranked player was becoming reality.
I watched as Jeong Si-hu returned to his seat.
He felt my gaze and turned his head, offering a quiet smile.
Not provocation, not caution—just a greeting, a serene expression.
“I won’t hold back,” I said with a small laugh.
I spoke quietly.
“Neither will I.”
He smiled too.
Both of us.
People ready to accept a decisive match, face to face, whenever, wherever.
‘……I’ll surpass it.’
The wall that is the world’s number one.
The winner will be me.

* * *
Sakai Junichi, a journalist for Osaka Sports Daily.
He held a sip of coffee in his mouth as his eyes traced the laptop screen.
“Hmm.”
He narrowed his eyes.
Kim In-ha, 9-dan.
A name that had dominated Korean headlines day after day.
He rewound the interview footage of Kim In-ha that had taken place in the convention hall just moments earlier.
‘…I apologize. I haven’t studied Fujisaki’s Baduk in great depth. But if the opportunity arises, I would very much like to experience it firsthand.’
Polite.
Not discourteous, and both his expression and tone were composed.
Though relayed through an interpreter, there was no mockery or contempt in his closing words.
Anyone watching would not have gotten the impression that he was belittling his opponent.
But.
‘Might as well squeeze what I can out of this.’
Sakai Junichi’s fingers moved slowly.
He brought up a draft headline and tapped at the keyboard.
— Korean 9-dan Kim In-ha: “I don’t know much about Fujisaki’s Baduk style”
“Weak.”
It lacked the force to capture attention.
He needed something more provocative, more visceral.
His fingertips moved again.
— Snubbing Japanese Baduk? 9-dan Kim In-ha: “I’ve never studied Fujisaki’s Baduk”
“Yes, that’ll do.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
By subtly twisting the words, he’d crafted an implication that Kim In-ha had dismissed Japanese Baduk entirely.
It wasn’t a distortion, exactly.
Just a slight warping of context.
Then he selected one of the photos of Kim In-ha from the draw ceremony.
A shot where he gazed straight ahead with an expressionless face.
Colder in tone, carrying a domineering air.
As if he were looking down on someone—a plausible image ripe with misunderstanding.
Once the article was finished, he hit the ‘upload’ button.
That evening.
The name ‘Kim In-ha’ began flooding Japanese portal sites and online communities.
As the sensational article lit the fuse, tabloid media outlets rushed in to follow.
— 9-dan Kim In-ha Cold to Japanese Journalist’s Question: “Fujisaki? Never heard of him”
— Rude Remarks at Invitational Tournament? Kim In-ha: “Japanese Baduk isn’t a priority”
— “Not worth studying,” Kim In-ha’s attack on Fujisaki sparks controversy
Endless reworking.
More sensational headlines.
More distorted context.
Social media flooded with angry comments calling him a “disrespectful Korean player” and accusing him of “looking down on Japan.”
And the next morning.
Kim In-ha, 9-dan, had become the public enemy of Japanese Baduk fans.

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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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