I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 125

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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 Talent to Make Money — Chapter 125
‘……The athletes’ village move-in. I’m already excited.’
South Korea’s archery training methods have earned a reputation for being distinctive, scientific, and systematic.
Mental reinforcement training for real competition, programs to overcome limits, and even simulation training that recreates competition conditions while pushing them to extremes in preparation for the American Olympics—or so I’d heard.
The thought of experiencing it firsthand stirred my curiosity.
“Ah, here you are!”
As I stepped through the gate, a man holding a placard came hurrying over in a fluster.
Black long padding, hair neatly swept back—but his expression was taut with nervous tension.
I recognized him from the interview.
“Oh, hello. Um, Kuksoo—no, Director! I’m Jeong Hae-sung, your manager.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I smiled and we shook hands, though I felt a peculiar stiffness in his grip.
He was visibly on edge.
“I’ll take your luggage for you. This way, please—the car is on the basement level.”
I nodded.
Letting someone else carry my things still felt strange.
I’d always handled my own affairs.
But.
‘I need to get used to this.’
These small conveniences accumulate, and they free up the mental space I need to focus on my work.
That’s why I’d hired a manager in the first place, just as Jung Soo-yeon had advised.
When we reached the parking lot, a large van was waiting.
“Please, get in.”
The moment I stepped inside, I paused.
Premium custom seats, a small refrigerator, even an air purifier—a literal “mobile waiting room.”
Sitting in this, I genuinely felt like a celebrity.
As the van crossed the Incheon Bridge, leaving the airport behind, I spoke up.
“Come to think of it, Hae-sung, you graduated from Hanshang University, didn’t you?”
“Oh, you know Hanshang? It’s not a well-known school… I majored in English Literature.”
I said it casually.
“I graduated from there too.”
“What!?”
His eyes widened in the rearview mirror as he looked at me.
Genuine surprise.
And with good reason—Hanshang is what you’d call a regional university.
Lower entrance scores, narrower job market.
Yeon-hee’s acceptance into Ciel Bank counted as a rare success story.
So the fact that I’d graduated from such a place clearly caught him off guard.
“Honestly, I find it hard to believe. I’d always heard you were a natural talent… though I don’t mean that as criticism, sir.”
“I wasn’t a good student, actually.”
I smiled faintly.
It was the truth.
Which is why I’d graduated from Hanshang and drifted through contract positions at banks afterward.
And the talents I was showing now were, frankly, a bit like cheating.
“I saw in your resume that you can play Baduk?”
“Ah, yes. I’m embarrassed to say, but I’m only an internet 5-kyu. I started learning after watching your shorts, but I haven’t improved much.”
There was a hint of self-doubt beneath his smile.
Setting aside the director-employee dynamic.
The way he spoke, looking for my approval, reminded me somehow of who I used to be.
“It’s just that I don’t have the kind of talent you have, sir.”
Talent.
I turned that word over in my mind for a moment before I spoke.
“……You will have one. You just haven’t found it yet.”
I meant it.
That’s simply how talent works.
His eyes lit up.
“Actually, you’re my role model, sir.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Since I knew I could never be like you, I applied to your company instead. I want to find my calling here.”
“Then I’d better work even harder. I can’t let you down.”
At Jeong Hae-sung’s words, a strange sense of responsibility settled across my shoulders.
As we continued talking and driving, Jeong Hae-sung hesitated before asking.
“I’m… really curious about this, but is Masked Singer Checkmate really you, Director?”
I nearly laughed out loud.
His expression reflected in the rearview mirror was far too serious.
“That’s what you were wondering about?”
“Yes. I looked up the videos, and the voice is the same, but the vocal ability is different… I don’t mean you can’t sing. It’s just that it sounds somehow different and yet distinct.”
Now that he mentioned it, I’d heard people were still talking about this.
My identity had already been leaked to the audience judges during last week’s Masked Singer recording.
There was a confidentiality agreement, and the gap between my performance on “The Last Song” and the singing I’d done there was so pronounced that many people still refused to believe they were the same person.
I smiled and deflected the question.
“You’ll find out when it airs.”
The car arrived at a high-rise building in Yeouido.
The moment the elevator doors opened on the upper floor, the Han River sprawled across the entire living room.
‘Wow.’
Every time I saw it, it took my breath away.
A panoramic view of the Han River at a glance—a 48-pyeong luxury officetel.
The monthly rent alone was five hundred thousand won.
More than double what I’d earned during my days as a bank security guard.
A number I couldn’t have even imagined back then.
But Jung Soo-yeon, the director, had been firm about it.
“People develop ambition when they live in good places. Once you experience comfort, you don’t want to lose it. There are also tax considerations, so just move in.”
So I’d ended up relocating here on her insistence.
And now that I’d returned, I found myself agreeing with her.
The moment I stepped over the threshold and looked down at the Han River, I realized it wasn’t just a residence—it was motivation that elevated my entire life.
Just then, the door to the smaller room opened and Jung Soo-yeon, the director, emerged.
“You’re here?”
A tablet in one hand, dressed in a sharp black suit with subtle jewelry, even a beauty mark beside her eye.
Every time I saw her, she carried the distinctive air of a refined career woman.
“Do you like the place? I decorated and furnished it all according to my taste.”
“Yes. It’s modern and nice.”
Truth be told, I’d left all the interior design and furniture arrangement to Jung Soo-yeon.
I had neither the eye for it, the interest, nor the time.
Chess openings, strategy and tactics, endgame studies.
Playing and analyzing against chess engines whenever I had a free moment.
Morning and afternoon workouts and meal planning on top of that.
These days, twenty-four hours in a day wasn’t enough for me.
Seeing my expression, she smiled with satisfaction.
“I’m glad you like it. I paid special attention to the sofa and the wine cellar. They match our taste, and we drink together often.”
“…Pardon?”
Jeong Hae-sung, standing beside me, blinked briefly.
Caught off guard by her words, my eyes reflexively darted toward the wine cellar and sofa before I hurriedly looked away.
I spoke with a smile.
“I think you’ve misunderstood, Hae-sung.”
Jung Soo-yeon turned her head to look at him.
A brief but icy gaze.
He immediately straightened his posture.
“I’m… I’m terribly sorry.”
Jung Soo-yeon smoothed over the awkwardness and leaned toward me to get to the main topic.
“I’ve moved all your belongings into the dressing room. I organized the clothes from Red Eagle and formal wear from additional sponsor brands, and the new equipment sent by the Archery Association is in the empty room.”
“Thank you for your hard work.”
I felt anew how fortunate it was to have Jung Soo-yeon by my side.
If I had to handle all of this alone, the thought alone would have been overwhelming.
Above all, she was someone I could trust.
“Now for work. Once today’s Masked Singer King of Song broadcast ends, we’ll release all the articles about the Netflix Checkmate production.”
“The timing is perfect.”
Masked Singer King of Song winner turned Checkmate.
True identity: Professional Baduk player Kim In-ha.
A Netflix-produced hybrid real-entertainment show Checkmate unveiled at just that moment.
The pieces fit together perfectly, like gears clicking into place.
“Typically, documentaries and entertainment productions schedule press conferences about five days before broadcast. That gap is ideal for search volume and word-of-mouth.”
“But we haven’t even started filming yet?”
“Right. Instead, we’re focusing on announcing the production launch and building anticipation. Chess is still unfamiliar to domestic audiences.”
Hearing the reasoning, I understood.
The strategy was to announce the project early, capture interest, and make my chess challenge in Europe feel like real-time coverage.
They’d likely use news, social media, and teasers throughout to steadily build momentum.
“All the prep is done. We’ve coordinated participation with the European chess tournament organizers, booked flights and hotels. You’ll depart ten days after the athletes’ village closes.”
“Really doesn’t give us much time.”
My heart raced.
Not Asia. Europe.
Not Baduk. Chess.
The fact that I would be the one throwing down the gauntlet on their stage sent shivers through me.
“Hae-sung will be coming with us.”
“I’ll do my best.”
A subtle flutter of excitement.
He seemed more thrilled by the word “Europe” than by the three-week-plus filming schedule.
“Going forward, keep the buzz going. Especially the interview at next week’s press conference—we’ll use that footage for promotion from the start.”
“Don’t worry about that. It’s what I do best.”
Put kindly, it’s provocation. Put harshly, it’s baiting.
Looking back, my talent had been almost entirely specialized in that direction.
“I’ll send the OST guide track later. We’ll record as soon as possible, and I’ve turned down all entertainment appearances due to scheduling conflicts.”
She paused while handing over the tablet.
“And… there’s one piece of news you’ll probably like.”
“News?”
She showed me the screen.
“It’s an article about O Su’s return.”
“……!”
Time seemed to lag by half a beat.
The headline: “The Legend’s Return: A Go Master’s Comeback from Retirement.”
My heart pounded again at news of the world’s top player’s return.
“We’ll finally be able to face off in an official tournament.”
In a professional championship, not an Exhibition Match like Monochromatic Go.
A chance to defeat a legend of world Go.
For me, it was the greatest motivation—worth more than anything else in the world.

* * *
YouTube channel name: Chess King Ryu Hyeon-sang.
Subscriber count: 74,000.
It was the top chess YouTube channel in the country, featuring lectures, real match commentary, and domestic and international chess news.
He was undisputedly the best chess player in Korea.
National Chess Championship winner.
Chess Olympiad national team representative.
Advanced to the second round of the FIDE World Cup.
His personal best rating was 2409, and with achievements recognized in official international tournaments, he’d climbed to International Master—a genuine expert.
Yet domestic chess was still unpopular.
Ryu Hyeon-sang’s average viewers barely exceeded 100.
Video view counts weren’t impressive either.
Today was different.
The revelation that Checkmate, the contestant on the entertainment show Masked Singer, was Kim In-ha sparked attention.
And articles flooded in: Netflix was producing a hybrid entertainment program featuring Kim In-ha as the protagonist, with chess as the theme.
That news drew more viewers than usual to his live broadcast.
—Hyeon-sang, I heard Kim In-ha is doing a chess entertainment show!
—It’s good for chess promotion, but… is this really right?ㅋㅋㅋ
—He plays Go well, but chess too? Does chess look like ㅈ to him?
—What credentials does he even have to do entertainment?
—Even if he’s making an entertainment show, shouldn’t you be the one doing it, Hyeon-sang?
—He’s just riding on popularity ㅋㅋㅋ
Ryu Hyeon-sang laughed awkwardly at the screen.
“Well, someone like him is better for promoting chess than me.”
He spoke calmly on the surface, but inside was a different story.
He had played Baduk before.
Though he didn’t understand it deeply, he knew well that Baduk and Chess, despite falling under the same umbrella of “Mind Sport,” had fundamentally different qualities.
Baduk was a battle of flow, building dozens of moves ahead.
Chess lived and died by the exchange of limited pieces, by precise calculation in each passing moment.
The scope and structure of Move Reading were entirely different between them.
Ryu Hyeon-sang’s mouth went dry.
‘I could do better than this……’
Ryu Hyeon-sang knew it himself.
He lacked the fame, the recognition, even the popular appeal that Kim In-ha possessed.
Yet he took pride in his Chess skill—the best in the nation, he believed.
But reality, it seemed, belonged not to the one with superior skill, but to Kim In-ha, who had the narrative buzz.
-Wait? Found it! There’s an account called “Nobody” on Chess dot com!
-No way. Rapid 1990? lololol
-Only 24 games played.
-This level of play and Europe? Ridiculous
-I heard the official rating’s even lower.
“……A 1990 rating? That’s a bit underwhelming, I have to admit. The fundamentals are there, but once tournaments get any bigger, he’ll struggle…… Not that it matters, right? The camera crew is going anyway.”
He spoke carefully, but the emotion was unmistakable in his tone.
A 1990 rating.
Even if the Chess dot com score was lower than actual performance—since it wasn’t official—it fell short of his expectations.
“And we’ll package the weak skill nicely anyway. ‘He fought well,’ ‘It was a close loss’…… the same tired story, isn’t it?
As he spoke with a mocking edge, one line appeared in the chat that made his skin crawl.
Then.
-You’re disrespecting Kim In-ha? That guy’s just a genius. Can’t put him on the same level as ordinary people like you.
It was a username he’d never seen before.
Any other time, he would have let it slide.
But the phrase “on the same level” scraped across his bones.
The emotion he’d been pressing down began to simmer, rising slowly from deep in his chest.
“……On the same level?”
A faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
“Do you really think that person could beat me at Chess?”
His voice had become subtly lower, colder.
The chat response came quickly.
-Of course? lolol Is that even a question?
In that moment, his mind knew it.
That letting emotion into this would be a mistake.
But the words rose in his throat.
The pride of an International Master—that no one in the country could beat him at Chess.
But a Baduk player, someone who’d never seriously played Chess, could defeat him?
It was unbearable.
The emotion that surged up loosened his tongue and let the truth spill out.
“That’s funny.”
A short laugh, and he fixed his gaze on the screen.
“Would you tell him I said let’s play a match?”
A sharp provocation.
Followed by a cold smile.
“If I lose, I’ll formally apologize to Kim In-ha. But…… I don’t think I’ll lose. Not a chance.”

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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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