I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 123

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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 Much Profitable Talent Chapter 123
Morning in Kyoto.
After a light wash and soaking in the hot spring water, the lingering tension from the day before dissolved like mist.
“……Even after I go home, I’ll keep thinking about this, won’t I?”
Setting aside the regret, I stepped out into the tatami room.
The reserved kaiseki breakfast was already laid out in neat presentation.
Miso soup warming over a small brazier, pickled vegetables touched with yuzu fragrance, a freshly grilled fish fillet — everything looked mouth-watering at a glance.
“So this is how you make money in this business.”
I picked up my chopsticks with a murmur of appreciation.
Savoring each dish, I pulled out my smartphone with my other hand.
A Japanese portal site.
I typed in a search and hit the translation button — headlines flooded the screen.
[Kim In-ha 9-dan Rebukes Japanese Media…… “Report Only the Facts of Victory.”]
[Backlash After Championship Interview…… “Sorry for Defeating Japanese Player”? Distortion Controversy Grows.]
[“The Greatest Tournament, a Match with the Greatest Player…… Please Convey That Truth.”]
[Japanese Netizens Protest…… “Kim In-ha’s Interview Was Disrespectful.”]
[Context Hidden by View Counts…… Did the Champion’s True Feelings Get Through?]
“As expected, pretty fifty-fifty.”
It was the reaction I’d anticipated.
Only a handful of journalists would feel any shame.
Just looking at the headlines on the main page proved it.
Journalists who cherry-picked quotes and sensationalized them still dominated page one.
For them, the truth mattered less than immediate buzz and view counts.
It didn’t surprise me anymore.
But.
The articles were one thing — public opinion was another.
-The reporter’s writing fiction again.
-Kim In-ha 9-dan actually showed respect for Japan.
-His sincerity came through. Don’t distort it.
-Reporter, aren’t you spitting in my face? As a Japanese citizen, I’m ashamed.
-Report the facts first.
-But honestly, it’s a shame Japan lost the Korea-Japan match
Still, there were people who saw the truth.
At least my voice hadn’t echoed into complete emptiness.
There was some satisfaction in landing at least one blow against the Japanese media.
And.
Some of them had keen eyes.
[But, saying you’re sorry for winning in Japan and saying Fujisaki played slightly worse than you…… doesn’t sound like you’re being sincere, does it?]
I let out a quiet laugh and set down my chopsticks.
After clearing the table, I got up and changed into something slightly more comfortable than yesterday.
A Red Eagle Hoodie and jeans.
And a light jacket thrown over it.
As I stepped out of the ryokan’s front gate, Yu Jeuh-ha pulled up quietly in her car, just like yesterday.
“When did you get here?”
“Just now.”
The moment I got in, she laughed brightly.
“Aren’t you tired of constantly driving me around?”
“Not at all. It’s something I want to do. Besides…”
Yu Jeuh-ha glanced away slightly.
Then she added, almost to herself.
“What happened yesterday, thinking about it makes me so embarrassed, but it’s okay. I can pretend it didn’t happen!”
A shy expression crossed her face.
I was speechless.
What was she even saying? She had a gift for picking exactly the kind of things people could misunderstand.
“You saw my room yesterday. It wasn’t even organized…… My face is still hot thinking about it.”
I couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly.
I should have seen this coming.
I thought I’d built up some immunity by now, but occasionally getting caught off guard like this still threw me.
“Right. I did see those socks shoved under your bed.”
“What? Really!?”
“No, I’m joking.”
“That’s not funny!”
Laughter rippled between us.
The familiar rhythm of building me up, then slipping out of it with shameless ease.
I didn’t dislike this easy banter between us.
We headed out toward the outskirts of Kyoto.
A quieter residential neighborhood.
It was some distance from the subway station, but you could see mountains and the air was clear.
Best of all, there were no swarming tourists.
When we stepped out of the car, I felt the serene calm that only a wooden house could emanate.
A wooden plaque by the entrance bore its name carved into it.
Saeki Dojo.
“Here it is.”
Yu Jeuh-ha opened the door carefully and led me inside.
A narrow but immaculate living room.
The history of the dojo was densely packed within its walls.
Newspaper clippings covered the walls.
Dozens of professional players who had started at this dojo.
Go books crammed into a shelf cabinet.
And beside them, a photograph of Yu Jeuh-ha’s father, Saeki Takayuki, hung in place of honor.
“My father never quite made it as a professional player… but as an instructor, he was second to none.”
A smile bloomed at the corners of her mouth.
The pride and tender respect woven into it came through without need for words.
We turned quietly to take in the rest of the dojo.
The laundry room, the bath, the dormitory where the live-in trainees slept.
Having never gone through a training house myself, these spaces felt strange and wondrous.
“The upstairs comes next.”
Tap, tap.
As we climbed the stairs, a faint sound of go stones drifted down from somewhere.
Soft yet unmistakable, that steady, rhythmic clacking.
“They’re having study time. When they find out you’re here, they’re going to flip.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely! There are actually more kids who love you than Fujisaki.”
A laugh slipped out before I could help it.
Being someone’s idol.
Japanese children, no less.
It was always something that felt foreign and fragile, yet at the same time, it made my chest swell.
My baduk, myself as a person, had become the object of someone’s admiration.
Knock, knock.
Yu Jeuh-ha tapped on the door and carefully opened it.
About a dozen children were quietly reviewing games or focused on Life and Death problems.
Most of them between ten and fifteen years old.
Yet their demeanor toward baduk was utterly serious.
Yu Jeuh-ha spoke softly from among them.
“Hello, everyone. Do you want to see who I brought?”
The children looked up, their eyes widening in surprise.
“Huh?”
“Wait, is that Kim In-ha Sensei!?”
“No way! You really know him? Is that actually true?”
Voices mixed with astonishment and curiosity.
The children scrambled to their feet and approached me hesitantly.
Then they began chattering excitedly in Japanese.
Yu Jeuh-ha smiled and translated for me.
“They’re all fans. They really love your baduk.”
A smile spilled out instead of words.
This was the first time I’d felt the barrier of language as a loss.
If only I’d known Japanese, I could have talked with each of them one by one.
In that moment of swallowing that regret, something shifted.
‘…Wait.’
In the far corner.
My eyes met those of a child who had been watching me.
The boy quickly looked away and refocused on the Go board.
Lost in post-game review.
As though I didn’t exist.
I sensed a subtle undercurrent of resentment.
Yu Jeuh-ha, noticing my gaze, laughed with a hint of embarrassment.
“Ah… Kenta really loves Fujisaki’s baduk.”
Everything clicked into place at her words.
After all, I’d defeated Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan, in the Nichirenhai final and claimed the championship.
And more than that.
‘I play baduk that’s the complete opposite of his style.’
Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan—he plays refined, disciplined baduk.
Me, by contrast, I’m free.
In shape, in technique, in emotion.
So it wasn’t surprising that a child might not like my baduk.
It was perfectly fine. I understood.
As the children clamored around us, Yu Jeuh-ha glanced at me and spoke.
“Don’t you have anything you’d like to say to the children? Any advice would be good, or a lecture if you like.”
I lowered my head and looked at each child’s face in turn.
Excitement, respect, anticipation.
Pure emotions flowed through unfiltered.
What should I say?
What story could I leave behind that might truly help these children?
‘It’s difficult.’
But soon I understood.
That whatever words I offered would fall short.
Because baduk, in the end, is an art where stones speak louder than words.
“……Well, perhaps it would be better to show you through baduk rather than say it in words?
Yu Jeuh-ha’s eyes widened.
I turned softly to the children gazing at me with bright, eager eyes.
“I’ll play simultaneous Go against all of you. Everyone here.”

* * *
The game room.
In a silence so ripe it seemed to hold even breathing itself.
Click.
Only the sound of stones being placed.
Only the sound of stones echoes through the air.
Thirteen children.
Young players gathered from across the country, all aiming for professional promotion.
Among them sat Yoshida Kenta.
Kenta, fifteen this year, had come to the dojo roughly a year ago.
Fifteen years old.
Kenta had entered this dojo a year before.
A children’s baduk tournament held in Kyoto.
A single word from Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan, who was giving simultaneous instruction games there, had changed everything.
—You play well. You have talent. Let’s meet as professionals someday.
From that day forward, Fujisaki Yuya, 9-dan, became Kenta’s entire world.
His goal. His idol.
The person he must one day reach.
But then.
That very person lost to Kim In-ha, 9-dan, from Korea.
His beloved baduk.
Lost to a baduk he despised.
‘……I can’t accept it. That wasn’t baduk Fujisaki should have lost to.’
And so he resented it.
It didn’t sit right with him.
Above all, he had learned from Saeki Takayuki that baduk must respect propriety.
Yet Kim In-ha, 9-dan, didn’t even observe such formality.
A man who wins and speaks carelessly.
That was far too rude.
‘I won’t lose.’
She didn’t think of this game as a mere teaching match.
Simultaneous Go or whatever—it didn’t matter.
She threw herself at it with a single purpose: to win.
Playing without a handicap, using level odds instead—it was all for that reason.
Only to win.
At first it went well.
AI-based Fuseki.
She was confident.
Her Move Reading was sharp.
She answered precisely.
But then.
‘……Why here, now?’
A timing she hadn’t anticipated.
A sudden intrusion.
A move of Destabilization she’d meant to ignore shattered her rhythm entirely.
When she was watching or reviewing games, she’d thought she could respond adequately.
But facing it in real time was different.
‘I—I can’t keep up.’
Her mind went blank.
The next move wouldn’t come.
It wasn’t a good move, surely, yet the path forward vanished.
By the middle game, the board state crumbled in minutes.
Irretrievably. Helplessly.
She should have felt aggrieved.
She should have been angry.
But she couldn’t look away.
‘……Ah.’
This was wrong.
Why, in moments like this, did she see only the beauty of his Baduk?
“I resign.”
She lifted her head.
Looking around, all the other matches had already finished.
Only she had held on until the end.
Toward her, Kim In-ha spoke quietly.
Kenta looked at Yu Jeuh-ha. Then she interpreted for him.
“He says you play well. Your Baduk is similar to Fujisaki’s.”
“……What?”
For a moment, Yoshida Kenta went slack.
That he resembled his idol.
But those words came from the mouth of someone who played the style of Baduk he hated most.
A strange discord stirred and tangled in his chest.
Then Kim In-ha and Yu Jeuh-ha stood before the large Go Board.
Kim In-ha turned slowly to survey the children and spoke unhurriedly.
Beside him, Yu Jeuh-ha continued interpreting with care.
“He says that in an age when AI gives you all the answers, you have to find the ‘questions’ instead.”
“Questions?”
When one child asked for clarification, Yu Jeuh-ha nodded gently.
“The answers always show themselves. But you have to discover for yourselves why that answer is right, the process behind it. Your true Baduk lives in that process.”
‘Ah.’
He doesn’t appeal to her.
Defeating Fujisaki Yuya, his direct manner of speech—it all still bothers her.
Yet his Baduk keeps coming back to her.
A board state wrought from order and disorder alike, strangely, perfectly beautiful.
Nothing like the Baduk she loves, yet somehow she cannot look away.
And his counsel to find the ‘process,’ not the ‘answer.’
With time, those words burrowed deeper into her heart.
‘……I can’t hate this.’
His words.
His baduk.
She felt it seeping slowly into the deepest corners of her heart.

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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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