I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 121

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

Too Many Lucrative Talents — Chapter 121
‘…… This is it. The reversal.’
The match remained treacherous.
Evenly matched board state.
Yet by one point.
That single point of difference had shifted the balance of the game into the form of a reversal.
And with the endgame drawing near,
there was no room left to breathe.
No space to maneuver, no margin to recover from a mistake.
I lifted my chin slowly.
Across the Go board, I regarded Fujisaki Yuya without words.
A completely different figure from yesterday.
To speak plainly, his baduk was so fierce that one could believe an entirely different person sat before me.
Precise, deep move reading.
Bluespot accuracy that bordered on artificial intelligence.
Today, Fujisaki Yuya had shown everything he possessed.
‘Why he told me to be careful…… I think I understand now.’
Jeong Si-hu’s counsel.
Until the first match, those words hadn’t struck me quite so deeply.
But today was different.
Home and away.
Frequently invoked in sports, but the difference was equally stark in baduk.
Playing a championship match beneath the cheers of one’s own fans, beneath the focused lights of one’s own press.
A familiar setting, familiar air, familiar gazes.
How powerfully all of it could strengthen a single player.
Facing Fujisaki Yuya today, I felt it in my bones.
‘…… The China tournament will be far more brutal.’
China, which possessed numerous world-class masters.
Their tournament, their stage.
To contend against them there would be harder than anything I could imagine.
It was a moment when I truly grasped how difficult it was to win on the world stage.
And so,
I understood why Fujisaki Yuya was struggling to place his stones.
Realistically, his only chance at winning a world tournament was the Nichirenhai held in his home country.
But even that was now drawing to a close.
“…… I have lost.”
His voice trembled faintly.
I could read the emotion within it.
Despair at defeat.
And the quiet resignation of a moment when pride shatters.
The weight of that silence remained upon the board.
Having played such a game, the blow he would feel would be far from light.
So I spoke briefly.
“You played beautifully.”
That was all.
No post-game review.
This match was not a battle of move reading alone.
Beyond each stone, it had been decided by the very method of thinking, the way of seeing the board,
and the conception of battlefield strategy through the use of territory itself.
Fujisaki Yuya bowed his head and stood.
Slowly he turned, his departing figure walking away.
That moment.
—Ding!
Along with the familiar sound, a system window appeared before my eyes.
[You have claimed the championship of the 1st World Baduk Tournament, Nichirenhai.]
[You have bested ‘Elevation of Precision’.]
[Congratulations. You have won the championship in the second of the seven world tournaments.]
[A remarkable achievement—you have taken a step closer to the Grand Slam.]
‘…… Grand Slam?’
Merely five letters.
But that word alone made his heart race.
Sweeping every major championship in a single field.
An achievement that echoes through history.
The pinnacle of a career.
Recognition from every fan across the globe.
‘God, how could I not want it?’
The moment his eyes landed on those words.
Literally, he burned with desire.
Before the afterglow of his Nichirenhai victory even faded, he was already hungry to reach the next level and beyond.
This craving was itself the fuel, the compass.
And then.
New system messages bloomed before him.
[Congratulations. Your ‘Realm of Enlightenment’ deepens.]
[Congratulations. Your ‘Realm of Enlightenment’ expands in part.]
[Your talent ‘Chess’ has reached the ‘Threshold of Evolution’.]
[Part of your ‘Baduk’ enlightenment seeps deeply into your ‘Chess’ talent.]
[Your talent ‘Chess’ has approached the ‘Realm of Enlightenment’.]
‘……Wait, is this appearing already?’
The Realm of Enlightenment.
A level granted only when one has perfected their ‘own path’ and ‘own color’.
In Baduk, he’d only just crossed that threshold after reaching A+.
But Chess—he was barely at B level.
In Baduk terms, that’s the boundary between Professional and Amateur.
In Chess ratings, roughly 2300 points, FIDE Master territory.
Yet this message had appeared, meaning he’d reached a boundary that numbers alone couldn’t explain.
Talent Fusion.
The synergy born between ‘Baduk’ and ‘Chess’.
The Chess only he could play, forged by that combination.
This wasn’t merely a rank—it was the expansion of my very path forward.
A new coordinate no one had ever walked.
His heart soared.
More than the thrill of victory, it was the Chess yet to come.
“Congratulations! For you to reverse a game that had turned so dark…… You truly are the Kuksoo.”
Park Sang-won approached and extended his hand.
His eyes held wonder, respect, and a hint of excitement.
The reaction was warranted—a Baduk game that had looked lost had been turned around.
“I think you should head straight to the awards ceremony now.”
He nodded, and the two of them left the Tatami Room.
Japanese traditional wooden corridor, the floor creaking faintly beneath their feet.
Through the gaps, camera shutters and a low murmur drifted from the far end of the hallway.
Journalists.
Their gazes were fixed on him and Park as they reached the corridor’s end.
But he paid no attention.
After all, he’d be facing them much closer soon enough.
“Do you know something?”
Park Sang-won spoke carefully as they walked.
“I’ve traveled on assignment with countless reporters, but I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Kuksoo.”
“That’s a compliment, I hope?”
“……Probably? You manipulate the media as you please, and then you prove it with results. Most people can barely manage one thing, but you pull off both every time. It makes me wonder if this is genuine star quality, born and bred.”
He laughed softly.
He understood what Park meant.
“It’s because I’m confident. So I just push ahead. Whoever the opponent is.”
Bravado and confidence are not the same thing.
When backed by skill, it becomes a ‘language all your own’.
Park Sang-won nodded and smiled in agreement.
“In that case, are you going to come at the interview strong today too? Like you mentioned back then…….”
“Yes. No need to beat around the bush.”
He smiled and turned to walk ahead.
He’d been sharpening himself for this day anyway.
He entered the New Building Hall, connected through the lobby.
A large poster and folding screen hung behind the podium, and beneath them, a display of trophies caught my eye.
Dozens of reporters had already set up tripods and were waiting in their assigned positions.
“Shall we go up?”
I nodded and climbed onto the stage.
The awards ceremony began shortly after.
A familiar sight.
The host’s opening remarks.
Brief congratulatory speeches from the organizers and sponsors.
Within the predictable flow of events, my name was finally called.
“Champion of the First World Baduk Tournament, the Nichirenhai Cup — Kim In-ha, 9-dan!”
I rose from my seat and walked to the center of the stage.
An executive from Kosho, the sponsor, handed me the trophy, flower bouquet, and prize money board.
Approximately 450 million won in Korean currency.
Considering the Ciel Bank Cup prize had been 300 million, this was no small sum.
‘……The trophy feels heavier than the prize board.’
More than the money — the name engraved upon it.
The honor that comes with victory.
All of it felt weightier, more substantial than I’d expected.
“We have the inaugural champion, Kim In-ha, 9-dan, here for an interview. Congratulations on your victory. Could you share a few brief thoughts?”
I lifted the microphone quietly.
Behind me, Park Sang-won’s tense face.
Before me, dozens of camera angles and gazes trained directly upon me.
Meeting that, I spoke my first words.
“I’d like to begin with an apology.”
“Eh? An apology?”
The host asked back, confusion flickering across his face.
I drew a breath and continued.
“I won this tournament held in Japan by defeating a Japanese player, and for that…… I’m sorry.”
A moment of silence.
Park’s interpretation followed, and immediately a ripple of unease spread through the room.
At those words, the Japanese journalists lifted their heads.
Their expressions were like fish on the surface of roiling water.
No one had expected me to provoke so broadly.
But I didn’t stop there.
“In our Korea-Japan match, Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan, played the finest baduk.”
A brief compliment.
And then, immediately after.
“However, it seems I played just a little better.”
The shock was fleeting.
The journalists’ eyes gleamed with excitement.
Fingers pressed the shutter like hyenas that had found their prey, ceaselessly clicking away.
I regarded them quietly.
Without emotion, without words.
And then, as if spitting it out, I posed a question.
“Are you satisfied now, reporters?”
……!
At that single phrase, the flashes ceased and the shutters froze.
Hands that had been reaching to record, hesitated for the first time.
Astonishment and bewilderment.
The atmosphere shifted in an instant.
Faces that suddenly understood — the words had been directed at them.
I continued steadily, my gaze unwavering.
“Today, Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan, played flawless baduk. Though I managed a reversal by utilizing the territory…… he displayed the finest form befitting a championship final in his own country.”
A beat.
Silence pooled in the room.
“……But the Japanese press was abysmal.”
My tone was brief and resolute.
In that moment, the reporters’ expressions shifted.
Some faces hardened; some brows furrowed.
Bewilderment, displeasure, disbelief.
Mixed emotions poured through my eyes.
But I didn’t stop.
My voice was low, yet each word carried weight.
“Distorting my interview, embellishing it, and publishing it as news. That wasn’t just an insult to me—it was an insult to Japanese Baduk fans.”
Silence.
Hands that had been raised fell. Some averted their gaze.
Those reports they’d tacitly condoned, sometimes even endorsed.
Mouths that had been preparing questions fell shut.
Their expressions flickered with doubt, bewilderment, and perhaps a trace of shame.
Of course, that was only part of the room.
Eyes gleaming with intent to make even this moment “news.”
Some were visibly excited, fingers pressing hard against keyboards.
“At the highest tournament, against the highest player, I won. That fact alone—report it accurately.”
Brief words, yet far from light.
In that single line, all answers had been given.
I didn’t bow my head.
I simply, slowly, lowered the microphone.
A clear message: I would take no further questions.
“That concludes the interview with Kim In-ha, 9-dan! Once again, congratulations on your victory!”
Urgency colored the moderator’s voice.
She rushed to prompt applause, as if erasing the strange tension.
The commemorative photos followed shortly after.
Holding the trophy, striking formal poses with the organizers.
Flashes went off, but the air was entirely different from before.
After all the proceedings ended.
I descended from the platform slowly.
As I walked through the corridor toward the old building, Park Sang-won quietly fell into step beside me.
“Man. You really are something, Kuksoo. I feel completely satisfied.”
His words said one thing, but his laughter held complicated emotion.
He hesitated, then spoke carefully.
“But, about what you said at the beginning…”
“About apologizing for beating a Japanese player in Japan?”
Park Sang-won nodded.
He continued hesitantly.
“Yes. And what you said about playing slightly better than Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan, in the Korea-Japan Match… you didn’t really mean that, did you?”
Stop.
I halted my steps.
I turned my head and regarded him quietly.
“Sounded sincere to you?”
“…No, I just got that feeling… or sorry, never mind.”
As if regretting he’d brought it up, he scratched his cheek.
I looked at him and smiled—a smile whose meaning was hard to pin down.
“I’m not sure myself, honestly.”
Had I just seized on the media as an excuse and said what I wanted to say?
Or was it a genuine strike at them?
Which was the real me—I honestly don’t know.
But this much was certain.
‘Even if I lose everything else, I can’t lose to Japan.’
The moment that thought crossed my mind, my feet grew lighter as I walked down the corridor.

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