I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 124

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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 Talents That Bring Money – Episode 124
“Thank you very much.”
“Goodbye!”
I took photos with the children in turn and signed autographs for them.
As I turned to wave, a girl suddenly approached me.
“Hmm?”
She gestured, so I lowered myself to her level.
When I bent down, the girl whispered playfully in my ear.
“……I heard that Yu Jeuh-ha likes Kim In-ha~.”
I couldn’t understand a word of it—it was all in Japanese.
Yet the girl left behind a mischievous smile and darted away like she was fleeing.
After leaving the dojo that way, Yu Jeuh-ha and I strolled through the Kyoto Streets.
“What did Kaoru just say to you?”
“Well… what was it again? Something about Yu Jeuh-ha and Kim In-ha… suki… nanda? What does that even mean?”
“Huh?”
In that instant, Yu Jeuh-ha’s expression froze. Her face flushed crimson.
Then she quickly turned her head and changed the subject.
“Oh, it’s n-nothing. Ah, the ramen place is right here!”
I followed Yu Jeuh-ha, who’d abruptly shifted topics, into the restaurant.
A small shop bustling with locals.
A rich aroma rose from the pork bone broth.
The moment I took a sip of the broth, a subtle oiliness gave way to a deep, subtle sweetness.
“Thank you, Kim In-ha.”
“For what?”
“Today… it’ll be an unforgettable memory for our children.”
I found myself smiling.
“No, I should be thanking you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Because of you, I think I’ve found something I need to do.”
Yu Jeuh-ha tilted her head in confusion, but I said nothing more.
It had been too precious a moment.
The children I’d met at the dojo today.
Their faces, where Baduk had become both dream and goal.
Seeing them, it had become clear what I needed to do when I returned to Korea.
To shatter the prejudice that Baduk is a “game with all the answers already found” in the age of AI.
Moreover, I wanted to let Baduk culture permeate society once more.
To transform it from a “game of finding answers” into a “game of asking why.”
I was the one who could do that, the only one who could teach it.
‘……When I return home, I should consult with Jung Soo-yeon about this.’
We drained our broths to the last drop at the Ramen Restaurant and left the shop.
Stepping out the door, winter air brushed against my cheeks.
Four in the afternoon.
Too early to call it evening.
That’s when we began walking toward the parking lot side by side.
Thwack!
A familiar sound cut through the air.
Clear despite being muffled by car noise.
The sound of a bowstring snapping and the dull thud of an arrow embedding itself in a solid target.
Without thinking, I stopped walking.
When I turned my head, the roof of an archery range appeared beyond a low wall.
“Ah, that’s the Kyudo Range.”
Yu Jeuh-ha spoke.
“It’s where people practice traditional Japanese archery. From when I was small… my father and I used to go there often.”
There was something faintly bittersweet in her tone.
A place layered with memories.
But even if Saeki Takayuki succeeds in his rehabilitation someday, wouldn’t it be impossible for him to take up the bow again?
“……Want to drop in for a moment?”
“No, thank you.”
“I want to see it. You shooting.”
At my words, Yu Jeuh-ha’s eyes widened for a moment.
A moment of hesitation crossed her face.
I reached out and took her hand, leading her inside.
“Then let’s say I’m going because I want to shoot. I’ve always wanted to try Kyudo when I came to Japan.”
“Eh? What?”
Yu Jeuh-ha, caught off guard, stepped into the Kyudo Range.
The atmosphere was entirely different from a Korean archery facility.
The floor carried the scent of old, well-worn wood.
On one side lay a garden bordered with white gravel; beyond it stretched a long shooting range.
Yu Jeuh-ha approached the counter.
It was clear they knew each other—their exchange was warm and familiar.
“Takaki will help you rent clothes and equipment. I’ll get my own gear on and meet you here in a moment.”
“Sounds good.”
Yu Jeuh-ha headed toward the changing room first.
Takaki, the staff member, came over to guide me.
“This way, please.”
He found me a Kyudo outfit in the right size and handed me a printed sheet with instructions on how to put on the gi and equipment in Korean.
It seemed Korean tourists found their way here often enough, despite the remote location.
But I didn’t read it.
With a familiarity born of decades, I dressed in the white gi and black hakama.
Over them I tied the arm guard snugly in place.
The movements were natural, as if I’d been doing this for decades.
When I emerged from the changing room, Yu Jeuh-ha was waiting.
She wore a white gi beneath a black hakama.
Her long hair, tied back in a neat knot, suited her perfectly.
“You look good.”
“So do you.”
I slung the borrowed bow over my shoulder and walked toward the shooting range.
Before us stretched a long gallery of targets.
Lifting the bow, I felt the particular flexibility of bamboo transmitted through my hands.
‘It bends more than I expected when you actually hold it.’
An irregular curve.
Japan’s climate had shaped the bow into this distinctive form, or so I’d heard.
“Kyudo is about cultivating the spirit and character. That’s why there are no arrowheads.”
Yu Jeuh-ha picked up her bow and took her stance.
She planted her feet, raised the bow, and took a deep breath in stillness.
Her fingers trembled faintly as she drew the string, and after steadying herself, she released the arrow.
Thwack.
It hit the target, though it landed slightly off-center.
“I’m a little out of practice, it seems.”
“In Kyudo, what matters is your stance and your frame of mind. Don’t fixate on results.”
“You… you know a lot about this, don’t you?”
I smiled quietly.
“Can I use that range over there?”
“You can, but… isn’t that distance a bit far?”
Regulation distance.
Twenty-eight meters.
As I took my place there, I felt the glances of others flicker toward me.
Their code of conduct prevented them from saying anything directly.
But it was clear they disapproved—a foreigner in a rental gi and borrowed equipment standing at that range was not welcome.
I paid no mind to it.
‘Since I’m here, I might as well experience this properly.’
I aligned my feet and shoulders, fixing my gaze on the center of the target.
My left arm cradled the bamboo bow gently while my right hand drew the string taut.
I heard Yu Jeuh-ha’s gasp beside me, barely stifled.
“Wow, your form is incredible…”
In Kyudo, even a miss is considered a perfect shot if the stance and movement are flawless.
But that standard didn’t apply to me.
‘I’m aiming for the black ring.’
The absolute center of the target face.
I held my breath for the final moment.
Twang!
The bowstring sang, and the arrow flew true, piercing straight through the center of the target.
Just barely outside the black ring.
‘I’m getting the feel for it now.’
Then came the rapid-fire sequence.
Twang! Twang!
With each arrow that left my hand, the next one embedded itself closer to the exact center of the target.
“Wait, this is really your first time doing Kyudo?”
“Yeah.”
“……I knew you were a national representative, but I didn’t expect anything like this.”
Yu Jeuh-ha couldn’t hide her astonishment.
And it wasn’t just her—every eye in the Kyudo Range had turned toward me.
The gazes that had been traveling between my hands drawing the bow and the target soon became fixed on the arrows embedded in the target itself.
Beyond disbelief lay pure amazement.
I found myself actually enjoying the attention.
“Does the dojo keep a record for perfect strikes?”
“Oh? Well, we do have one, but…….”
Yu Jeuh-ha’s gaze drifted toward one wall of the Shooting Range.
There hung a scroll inscribed with perfect strike records, each one bearing a name.
In Kyudo, which isn’t scored by points, dojos keep records of consecutive hits when the number is impressive.
“The current record is fifteen consecutive strikes.”
It was early in the year, and winter being what it was, the records weren’t particularly high.
But I felt certain that with just my fingertip sensation alone, I could challenge that mark.
“Want to see if I can break the record?”
“Breaking the current one…… you mean doing even better?”
A flicker of surprise crossed her face.
But then, a small smile played at her lips as she murmured to herself.
“……If you manage it, your name will stay here.”
It was a quiet voice, but it brushed against my ear.
“Hmm? What did you just say?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m rooting for you. If it’s you, I know you can do it!”
Her head shake carried an odd excitement to it.
It seemed some unspoken thought had been circling in her mind since moments before.
I drew a short breath and pulled back on the bowstring.
In the winter air, a taut tension wrapped around the Shooting Range once more.
* * *
Takeuchi Hiroaki.
A sports journalist with the Kyoto Daily News.
He was a man of typical paparazzi style.
“……Do you think I don’t know what you’re really thinking? That apology for winning—it was genuine.”
He held no warm feelings toward Korea.
More precisely, he was keenly aware that anti-Korean sentiment could be monetized—better than most.
And more than anything else, Kim In-ha rubbed him the wrong way.
How dare he confront journalists directly and try to intimidate them.
As if he didn’t know how dangerous a single article could be.
It was during this time that he happened to catch sight of Yu Jeuh-ha and Kim In-ha together.
Word was they knew each other from Korea.
But to Hiroaki’s eye, something felt off about the dynamic.
Yu Jeuh-ha was a fairly well-known figure in Japan.
She’d breathed life back into the flagging Japanese Baduk scene and supplemented her income with modeling work, earning considerable public recognition.
‘There’s something there.’
His instincts kicked in.
From that day forward, he lived out of his car, tracking Kim In-ha’s every move.
He was certain this would be the scoop.
But days of surveillance turned up nothing remarkable.
He and Yu Jeuh-ha did meet, true.
A meal with her family.
A visit to the Saeki Dojo.
Nothing else occurred.
Not even a moment that could be called physical contact.
Then, in front of the Kyudo Range, he caught them entering hand in hand.
That single photograph was all he had.
‘Weak.’
He headed straight into the Kyudo Range.
A typical experience course for Korean tourists.
Since it clearly looked like a date, it was the perfect shot to connect to scandal.
But then.
He saw Kim In-ha, there for a Kyudo experience, stepping up to the 28-meter shooting range.
‘Ha, does he think Kyudo is simple?’
He’d been in the archery club through high school.
He knew better than anyone how difficult Kyudo was, how much time this martial art demanded.
Yet.
Kim In-ha’s form was flawless.
His entire body and spirit revealed that he understood the essence of the martial way—the emphasis on process and mindset.
Then.
‘What?’
Snap!
The arrow lodged straight into the target.
One shot, two shots, three shots…and he began setting a consecutive hit record.
Seventeen perfect strikes in a row.
On the adjacent shooting range, Takeuchi Hiroaki’s fingers trembled faintly as he lowered and raised his bow repeatedly.
‘No, this is impossible.’
He knew Kim In-ha was a national representative in Compound Archery in Korea.
But it was an entirely different discipline—different bow structure, different archery method, different philosophy of form.
To reach that level in Kyudo, one had to spend at least ten years or more refining it through the body alone.
‘…….’
Respect for Japan?
He’d thought it was mere words.
A highly intelligent interview technique, nothing more.
But he was wrong.
That form, that posture, the courtesy embedded within it.
Such movements could never reveal themselves unless one genuinely sought to do things properly.
A reverent spirit that only those who had truly trained in Kyudo could possess.
That he had mastered Japan’s traditional Kyudo to this degree, and from Korea of all places.
It felt as though he had come to understand deeply how Kim In-ha perceived Japan.
Perhaps because of that.
‘……He might have been a better person than I thought.’
The animosity within Takeuchi Hiroaki slowly cooled.
In its place, affection for Kim In-ha seeped in.
That night.
Three articles written by journalist Takeuchi Hiroaki were posted.
[Kim In-ha, 9-dan, Masters Japanese Tradition. New Consecutive Hit Record at Kyoto Kyudo Range.]
[“I Respect Japan.” Kim In-ha, 9-dan, Expresses His True Heart Through Japanese Kyudo.]
[Japanese Media Must Reflect. The Message Fired by Korean Professional Player Kim In-ha’s Arrow.]
* * *
The next day.
Upon entering through Incheon Airport, a text message arrived.
[Korea Archery Association]
Dear Kim In-ha,
Following the 202X Compound Archery National Team Selection Competition, you have been confirmed as a national team member. We hereby inform you of your reporting to the Jincheon National Training Center as follows.
Reporting Date: 202X Year ○ Month ○ Date (○) by 2:00 PM
Training Period: 2 weeks (14 days).
Reporting Location: Main Gate of Jincheon National Training Center
As a player representing the Republic of Korea, please do your utmost.
Thank you.
The Olympics in the United States coming this summer.
As preparations drew near, the first Compound Archery national team assembly was just around the corner.

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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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