I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 117

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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 117
“Losing in a Korea-Japan match is… something that could never happen to me.”
Park Sang-won translated the words with a visibly pale face.
In that instant.
“……!”
The air itself seemed to fracture.
The journalists’ faces twisted in unison, their expressions rippling outward with shock.
No one could have anticipated that a Korea-Japan match would be invoked so brazenly in a championship interview.
Tap, tap.
A frenzied clatter of keyboards erupted from the reporters’ fingertips.
It was predictable without looking.
My words would be transcribed verbatim, plastered across every headline by now.
‘……The bigger the stage, the better.’
The larger the narrative grows, the greater the impact when I win.
The weight my voice carries.
My influence.
And the story I’ve crafted.
It’s not merely a competition.
It’s a battle over who commands this narrative, who becomes the center of the current.
All of it, ultimately, becomes part of my victory.
I smiled quietly and descended from the photo wall.
Park Sang-won, who had handled the translation, spoke with the pallor of a man facing death.
“……Is it really okay to do this? My heart is pounding so hard.”
I chuckled lightly and accepted the cloth bundle that had been held in safekeeping.
After passing through security, I entered a Tatami Room.
A narrow, hushed space.
The subtle scent of wood drifting through the air.
The moment I sat on the traditional cushion before the Go Board, all my senses settled.
Across from me, Fujisaki Yuya sat with eyes closed, deep in meditation.
A face so still that even his breathing seemed absent.
Suddenly, the words Jeong Si-hu had spoken on the airplane came back to me.
-Be careful of Fujisaki.
Mid-twenties.
The pinnacle of Japanese Baduk.
In the semifinals, he demonstrated his formidable strength by defeating Zhang Weiqian, ranked second in Chinese Baduk.
Moreover, this is Japan.
For him, there is no ground left to retreat.
‘……I’m trembling.’
A sensation I hadn’t felt in so long.
A pleasant tension.
That tremor climbs through me—the kind that only comes when your opponent is truly strong.
“Then, let the Illyeondae Cup Final Game One commence.”
The signal to begin was given.
Stone drawing.
In truth, Korea and China have used automatic random selection since this year to determine colors before the game.
But Japan, citing “tradition,” still maintains the practice of stone drawing, I was told.
‘Black.’
I had been hoping to take Black anyway for today’s match.
My wish had come true.
We exchanged formal greetings, and the Final Game One began.
The first move.
Tap.
Upper right star point.
An orthodox opening.
Immediately following is Fujisaki Yuya’s response.
Tap.
Lower left 3-3 invasion.
‘……A 3-3 invasion?’
A straightforward, territory-focused move.
A flexible strategy that secures the corner first before responding.
After AI’s emergence, some professionals used it sporadically, but it never became a common move.
I hadn’t consciously registered it.
My next move secured the lower-right corner’s small point.
My opponent took the small point as well.
Now the next move would be the crossroads determining the entire opening’s direction.
I chose to solidify with one space of distance in the small point—a practical move.
Concrete territory.
Thick and strong.
But it was also a move that surrendered Black’s advantage of initiative.
‘He’ll invade at the 3-3.’
Stone clapped onto the board.
Exactly as I’d anticipated.
White dove in without hesitation.
I blocked, turning the stone toward the lower edge.
The AI-era joseki: conceding territory while building influence.
Fujisaki Yuya claimed the corner’s concrete points with his 3-3 invasion.
Since AI’s arrival, a progression favored by many Japanese professionals.
‘Concrete territory—freely given.’
But over it, I layered something beyond calculation: intuition.
Lower-right corner.
Lower-left corner.
My line of influence extending toward the upper-left.
Bottom edge and top edge.
From this vast foundation, I slowly began occupying the center.
The broad, open middle.
Black stones pushed forward into that space with deliberate density.
Then it happened.
Fujisaki Yuya’s hand, reaching for the next white stone, hesitated.
‘…He’s caught on.’
The culmination of the strategy I’d prepared today.
What he faced now was no mere opening.
An opening that had begun in Japan decades ago and spread across the globe.
But as AI emerged, it was dismissed as antiquated and abandoned.
A classical opening forgotten even in Japan itself.
‘The Cosmic Style.’
Influence-first.
Creativity and intuition.
Baduk played to dominate space as vast as the cosmos through pure instinct.
For the first time in decades, the forgotten legacy of Japanese Baduk had awakened.
And more than that.
In a Japanese professional tournament.
Against a Japanese professional.
…A Korean player—me—had drawn the blade to strike Japan down once more.

* * *
“Insane! Absolutely insane! Our In-ha just deployed the Cosmic Style opening!”
Jang Yu-na’s voice trembled with excitement.
The live stream viewer count had already surpassed 8,600.
Thanks to Kim In-ha’s recent surge in popularity across all platforms, her broadcast had been climbing steadily as well.
Particularly, the influx of ‘newbies’ who knew nothing about Baduk had exploded.
As the controversy over Kim In-ha’s misquoted interview from Japan rippled through online communities, more and more people flooded into her stream.
The vast majority of them didn’t know the first thing about Baduk.
Yet they were captivated by her sharp commentary and charismatic broadcast presence, already becoming loyal viewers.
“The Cosmic Style—it’s an opening founded in the 1990s by Takemiya Masaki, a 9-dan from Japan!”
She poured out her explanation without drawing breath.
Her face flushed crimson with excitement.
“Think of it simply as a Japanese legend! Star points, star points followed by the Sanrensei formation! Territory over stones! Baduk with extreme territory as vast as the cosmos. That’s why it’s called the ‘Cosmic Style’!”
Her voice carried a note of awe.
Before AI, in the era when humanity’s innate opening intuition flourished.
The Cosmic Style dominated that entire age.
Takemiya Masaki, 9-dan, had won a total of sixty titles across his career.
But when the AI era arrived, the Cosmic Style was branded as “inefficient.”
And it slowly vanished.
An opening abandoned to history.
A forgotten past.
Yet now, Kim In-ha, 9-dan, had brought it back out.
-So is that really such a remarkable opening?
-He brought his strongest because it’s a Korea-Japan match, right?
-It’s beyond that lol just saying even if I play it you’d still win lol
-Wait, is this actually the Cosmic Style? This isn’t just mockery lolololol
-Wow it’s like declaring he’ll win without relying on handicaps
The chat continued to flood with confusion and speculation.
Then Jang Yu-na, 2-dan, folded her arms and spoke with casual confidence.
“Exactly. Some of you have already caught on.”
A smug smile played at her lips.
Staring directly at the camera, she posed a loaded question.
“Still not getting it, everyone?”
-???
-What are you talking about lol
-Explain it so we understand
-Why are you acting like you’re the only one who knows lolol
-This is infuriating
She chuckled, clearly relishing the bewilderment of the uninformed viewers.
“Listen carefully. The Illyeondae Cup is an international professional tournament held in Japan, right? But here…”
She paused to collect herself, her voice rising a notch.
“Against Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan from Japan! He pulled out ‘the Cosmic Style,’ the opening created by Japan’s legend—in the finals, a Korea-Japan match?”
Her mouth curved upward with sharp delight.
“This is basically a direct provocation. ‘With what you created, I’m going to crush you.’ That’s what this declaration means!”
-Lololololololol
-He’s actually insane
-For real lol
-Crushing Japan with Japan’s own creation lolol
-In-ha’s class is different lol
Jang Yu-na, 2-dan, fixed her gaze on the match board with meaningful intensity.
Her eyes burned hot, and her words came firm.
“Today, watch carefully. Watch how our In-ha rewrites the history of Baduk.”

* * *
Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan.
He had utterly suppressed his emotions.
Not a flicker crossed his face.
Not a curve of his lips, not a tilt of his head.
Like a carved wooden figure brought to life, he gazed steadily at the board and played his moves in silence.
But that was only the surface.
He was a player burning with fiercer intensity than anyone.
‘A man without courtesy.’
That was how Fujisaki saw Kim In-ha, 9-dan—a figure standing outside the bounds of propriety that the Japanese Baduk world held sacred.
His manner of speech.
His interviews.
All of it was provocative, loud, and disrespectful.
And now he had dragged the weight of national sentiment into Baduk itself, framing this as a Korea-Japan match.
To Fujisaki, that was nothing short of an insult to the game itself.
‘I cannot lose to such Baduk.’
He tightened his grip, as if swearing an oath.
He tightened his grip and played his stones with renewed purpose.
Clean formations.
Territory accumulating at the corners and sides.
By his calculations, Kim In-ha, 9-dan, should have invaded by now.
But instead, he conceded the territory far too easily.
Far too readily.
If anything, he felt unease.
‘What’s he plotting?’
Was this confidence?
Or arrogant certainty that he could win even after conceding territory?
In that moment, the placement of Black’s stones came into sharp focus.
Extreme influence.
A formation stretching long from the right side into the center.
‘……Cosmic Style?’
A word he’d forgotten for a long time.
The glory of Japanese Baduk and simultaneously the legacy of a bygone era.
An opening strategy that Takemiya Masaki had pioneered in his prime.
‘It’s not a standard sequence. It’s a modified opening.’
Familiar yet strange spacing.
Based on Sanrensei, it was distinctly different from the Cosmic Style he remembered.
He took a deep breath and maintained his composure.
The Cosmic Style was an obsolete opening.
He knew why that opening had disappeared, and how its illusion had crumbled.
Clack.
Fujisaki Yuya’s stone moved to the left side.
The fifth line edge.
A subtle position that checked Black’s territorial expansion while allowing him to slip away if needed.
It cost him in concrete points, but it was a move to cut the flow.
Then.
Clack.
Black responded with a push toward the center.
Right beside the celestial point.
Exactly there.
‘A delicate position.’
A move that pressed the center of gravity of Black’s influence down into concrete territory.
If left alone, all of Black’s influence would solidify into secured points.
‘I have to reduce it.’
But it had to be done carefully.
A shallow reduction would leave Black’s territory intact while White gained nothing.
Clack.
After long deliberation, he placed his stone in a garlic-bulb formation.
White stones leaning into Black’s influence.
A formation that was neither easy to surround nor simple to contain.
‘One of the reasons the Cosmic Style fell out of favor.’
Precisely because it was vulnerable to this kind of contact and garlic-bulb infiltration.
And yet.
Clack.
Black pushed forward without hesitation.
Directly into White’s territory without wavering.
And now he was advancing relentlessly to capture the White stones.
Surround.
Block.
Cut, push, stop.
No mercy.
‘……He’s going to capture all my stones?’
For the first time, his brow twitched.
No matter how strong Black’s influence was, trying to capture a large group in this space meant he was underestimating White.
‘This bastard…….’
Heat surged from the back of his neck.
A scalding fury rose from deep within.
Fujisaki Yuya’s eyes changed.
But he did not yield.
Surround.
Block.
Aggressive attack.
He pushed back, cut, and countered.
In the end, he touched on a weakness in Black’s formation in the upper region, and succeeded in breaking through.
‘It lives.’
His chest rose and fell in a shallow breath.
A deep breath escaped him unbidden.
And well it might—this was far more than mere survival.
He had saved his stones while simultaneously shattering Black’s territory. The influence pattern Black had woven was torn to shreds.
But then.
Click.
Fifth line on the left side.
Black approached his White stone, leaning with his shoulder—the exact same shape he had created moments before.
An identical formation.
‘……What is this?’
He had to respond. There was no choice.
If he withdrew here, his White territory on the edge would collapse entirely.
Click.
He blocked instinctively.
The shape solidified, but his composure did not.
Something felt wrong.
Black, whom he’d expected to press the attack relentlessly, had instead retreated.
‘Wait… could it be?’
Only then did the sense of discord crystallize.
The battle had been bait.
White had claimed the territory, but Black had claimed the structure.
His breathing grew shallow.
Some incomprehensible design was quietly rising into view.
‘This flow… could it be…… No. That’s impossible.’
Fujisaki Yuya’s 9-dan eyes trembled faintly.
Something had gone wrong.
Catastrophically wrong.
Black’s single move in the center.
Black’s remaining influence.
The traces Black had left behind.
All of it was now weaving together into one tapestry.
The Cosmic Style he thought he had broken.
Beneath the collapsed influence lay another dual design, hidden all along.
That undercurrent was now lifting its head.
‘He… from the very beginning, he was aiming for this?’
His heart began to race.
His face remained outwardly calm.
But sweat beaded at his fingertips.
Kim In-ha’s 9-dan ‘Cosmic Style.’
It was not simply an improved legacy of the past.
One conception layered upon another.
A vast Möbius strip that carried the opening through the midgame and the midgame into the endgame.
He could not help but doubt his own eyes.
‘……He layered another Cosmic Style on top of the first?’

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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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