I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 134

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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 — Episode 134
After finishing the schedule at Cafe Chess Salon, we had dinner at a nearby restaurant.
Svíčková, a Czech traditional dish.
Beef tenderloin submerged in a creamy carrot sauce, topped with whipped cream and cranberries.
With the first bite, the fatigue from the long flight and the initial shoot seemed to melt away.
The mild meat, sweet sauce, and savory bread fragments blended together, leaving a subtle flavor.
After the meal, we moved to a pub on the first floor of Hotel Barbara.
Dark wooden tables, dim lighting, and the distinctive aroma of Czech lager beer filled the space.
We clinked glasses and continued various conversations, with Kang Seung-hu handling the translation duties.
“According to Sara, the Open Club Tournament starts at eight in the morning at the salon tomorrow.
Swiss System, six rounds, Classic sixty minutes plus thirty-second increment. It runs over two days.”
I set down my glass and nodded.
Kang Seung-hu continued translating, glancing between Sara and me.
“Usually at this scale, participant ratings fall between 1500 and 1900. Quite a wide range.”
I don’t have an official rating yet.
In other words, I’m a No Rating participant.
In chess circles, they typically assign a provisional rating of around 1200 to 1400, but it’s just a convenience measure.
Besides, my online Chess.com rating isn’t recognized by FIDE.
‘Brings back memories.’
My first Baduk tournament, the Jung-Bukgu Association President Cup.
The days when I charged in blindly, knowing nothing.
Now, proving myself again, building on what I’ve achieved, facing new walls to overcome — this moment thrilled me beyond measure.
Sara Linova rested her chin in her hand and regarded me intently as she spoke.
“Chess players tend to favor openings like the Czech Benoni or Czech Defense, I’m told. It’s because of a tendency to prioritize safety, so keep that in mind.”
“Thank you, Sara.”
“Not at all.”
Without translation, that was the extent of our exchange.
Her gaze held a note of frustration, and I felt the same.
‘This is so inconvenient.’
The language barrier.
Between Sara and me, there was always a need for Kang Seung-hu’s translation.
Moreover, chess-specific terminology and specialized vocabulary often stumped even the translator.
The time I’d spend abroad for chess would only increase, and the thought of enduring this inconvenience each time already frustrated me.
If only I had a Language Talent.
Chinese would do, or at the very least English — that global universal Talent.
Right then, the Platinum Roulette Ticket I’d been saving naturally came to mind.
‘Should I spin it once?’
The moment that thought crossed my mind.
Ding!
Along with the familiar notification sound, a system message window appeared before my eyes.
[Congratulations. Achievement of Victory Points has been counted toward your accomplishments, and you have been granted a special benefit.]
[You, who have collected remarkable achievements, are more than worthy of reward. The system’s will resonates.]
[Congratulations. You have become eligible to receive the Conditional Talent “Language” Rank C.]
‘Conditional Talent?’
My brow furrowed involuntarily.
Before I could even feel joy at acquiring the Language Talent, doubt crept in.
Given that the system was always frustratingly unhelpful, I suspected it had attached some absurd condition this time as well.
But then.
[Win first place in the Classic division of the Prague Chess Open Club Tournament, hosted by FIDE.]
[Upon fulfilling this condition, the Talent “Language” Rank C will be provided, and your Talent slot will automatically expand.]
[However, should you fail to win first place, the Talent scheduled for distribution will be forfeited. Additionally, the accumulated achievement of Victory Points will also disappear.]
‘Is that really it?’
I stared blankly at the message.
I’d expected something far more complicated or ridiculous, but the condition was simpler than anticipated.
Perhaps it was a reward for everything I’d built up until now.
And besides, hadn’t I come here to win in the first place?
“Your expression looks a bit strange.”
Kang Seung-hu asked, lowering his glass from beside me.
“Mine?”
“Yeah. How do I put it… It felt sort of sinister.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I let out a short laugh and drained my beer glass, setting it down on the table.
“If you want to stay in good form tomorrow, it’d be better to get some rest now.”
At that, Kang Seung-hu and Sara Linova both nodded in agreement.
The first shoot, the time to get to know each other—this was enough. We’d be spending more time together anyway.
“Then rest.”
I excused myself and stood to head to my room.
I’d gained one more reason to win the two-day Prague Chess Open Club Tournament starting tomorrow.
To do that, what I needed most right now was rest.

* * *
The next day.
After a light breakfast, we left the hotel for the Cafe Chess Salon.
Though I’d seen it yesterday, Prague was traditionally a city where chess salon and chess club culture had flourished.
Ordinarily chess tournaments were held in public places like civic centers, university halls, or city halls, but in Prague, small open tournaments were mainly hosted at salons and cafes.
Especially for Classic play—long-form games that lasted far longer than Blitz or Rapid.
As we walked the streets, Kang Seung-hu asked me a question.
“How are you feeling? Your first tournament—aren’t you nervous?”
“…Well, there’s always some nervousness.”
I answered matter-of-factly, and Kang Seung-hu chuckled.
“The good kind of nervousness, right?”
“Huh?”
“It’s one of your famous quotes. I’ll have to tell Sara about this.”
Sara Linova, walking beside us, heard my words relayed and opened her eyes wide, looking at me.
“You can unsettle people with words too—more dangerous than chess or Go.”
“So your words are more dangerous than chess or Go?”
“…I can’t deny that.”
As we continued the light conversation, the Cafe Chess Salon came into view ahead.
Despite the early hour, it was already crowded with participants.
The tournament was divided into two sections—Blitz and Classic—and I was competing in Classic.
“Go win.”
Kang Seung-hu’s simple encouragement.
Followed by Sara’s words.
“I don’t think you need any advice. You’ve already reached the top in Baduk. Go win.”
I moved past the words conveyed through the interpreter and stepped into the cafe.
I gave my name to the staff member sitting at a table by the entrance.
“Inha Kim.”
The staff member checked the roster and gave me a brief explanation of the tournament regulations.
I already knew most of it from the preliminary briefing, but there was one thing that felt unfamiliar to me.
“Use of the chess clock and recording game notation are mandatory per regulations. You must familiarize yourself with them.”
After listening to the interpreter hired by the production crew, I nodded.
The chess clock was something I’d used often in Baduk, so I was comfortable with it.
But unlike Baduk, in chess I had to record the notation myself as I moved the pieces.
It served as the basis for judgment in case of disputes, and at the same time, all chess theory had developed on the foundation of countless recorded games.
As I sat down at my board, the foreign atmosphere of the place felt even more palpable.
Looking around, most of the participants were Eastern European.
Though their ages, clothing, and features varied, what I sensed in common was the trace of a long love affair with chess.
And their gazes naturally turned toward me.
East Asian.
Chess.
And filming.
Here in Eastern Europe, it was no wonder—none of those conditions was ordinary.
Because of that, there were no shortage of unwelcoming looks.
Especially the gazes of the Classic players were sharp.
‘…It’s probably because I have no rating.’
The ratings listed on the participant roster were almost all far higher than mine.
In other words, if I won, their ratings would drop significantly.
In an era where Rapid and Blitz had become popular, I was an eyesore to participants serious enough about rating to insist on Classic.
‘…That one in particular—their emotions are written all over their face.’
A student, looking to be about twenty years old.
A flicker of displeasure crossed his eyes, unmistakable.
‘Ignore it.’
We’d notified everyone about the filming beforehand, and all participants had agreed.
Besides, this Open Club Tournament’s Classic division had been accepting No Rating players for decades.
Creak.
Then my first opponent took his seat across from me.
A man in his mid-forties, Eastern European by the look of him.
He arranged the white pieces neatly before him, preparing for the game.
This tournament rotated colors equally—black and white in alternating games.
The first game, I had Black.
A moment later, the tournament bell sounded.
He offered his hand for a shake, and the moment we released our grip, his pawn advanced.
Swift.
Then the Timing Clock was pressed.
My chess, my first official game, had begun.

* * *
Milosi Blahov.
Official rating: 1801.
For him—a state railway engineer—chess was the only hobby he’d taken up late in life.
Yet in just one year, he’d climbed the ratings rapidly, and he carried that achievement with quiet pride.
And now, Round One.
His opponent: No Rating.
A foreign player he’d never seen before.
Still, he didn’t underestimate.
His nature was cautious, far from arrogant.
Swift.
Milosi reached for the most textbook choice available.
The Italian Game—pieces deployed in Standard Sequence, pursuing ‘stability’.
‘Of course he’ll push the pawn forward here.’
The textbook continuation.
The familiar flow.
But Kim In-ha didn’t follow the script.
Swift.
He transformed the balanced Italian into a Scotch Game—a sharp, unorthodox pivot.
An aggressive choice, tearing open the center.
“Hmm.”
A low sound escaped him.
He hadn’t expected such boldness from the opening.
Not a moment’s hesitation in the moves.
‘Could he… know all of this already?’
The thought flickered, then he dismissed it with a shake of his head.
There were over five hundred known chess openings alone.
Factor in their variations, gambits, and attacks, and the number became incalculable.
‘If he’d mastered all that, he wouldn’t still be No Rating.’
Milosi Blahov steadied himself and deployed his knight after careful Move Reading.
Then—
Swift.
Kim In-ha’s hand moved.
A one-second response, no hesitation at all.
The diagonal opened; the flow of the board shifted.
‘Again?’
His expression hardened without his realizing it.
In Classic, you had plenty of time to think deeply about your moves.
Yet he responded in a single second, as though he’d memorized every answer in advance, as though thinking were unnecessary.
‘Don’t get drawn in. Just hold steady and counter calmly.’
At that moment, his Black bishop advanced, pressing him.
He had no choice but to stop it.
He suppressed it with a pawn, but that was the beginning of the trap.
A cascade of exchanges.
On the surface it seemed an even trade, but the chessboard had transformed the moment the exchange concluded.
In-ha’s knight and bishop now dominated the center, while his rook cast a shadow across the open file.
Blahov’s queen found itself trapped, its escape routes sealed off.
‘This… how is this possible?’
He rushed to move his queen to safety, but Kim In-ha’s rook surged forward as if it had been waiting all along.
A move that seized absolute control of the open file.
Meanwhile his own pieces tangled around each other, blocking their own paths.
Move, and they snarled tighter. Stay still, and they grew more suffocating.
Snap.
Kim In-ha’s hand moved without a moment’s hesitation.
The knight wheeled into an impossible square.
In that instant, both queen and rook came under attack simultaneously.
‘A fork!’
Cold sweat beaded across Milosi Blahov’s palm.
Only then did Black’s calculation reveal itself.
Within the sequence of forced moves he’d been compelled to play, this had been the entire setup.
He thrashed against it, but to no avail.
The queen fell. Then the rook was captured.
A catastrophe unfolding in just thirteen moves.
“…….”
The color drained from his face.
He’d deliberated endlessly, yet every move proved useless.
His opponent simply followed the predetermined path, moving each piece in a single second.
He’d been mated with almost embarrassing ease.
Queen. Rook. Knight.
The most valuable pieces erased one by one.
What remained was a fear beyond explanation.
As if he were facing a phantom across the board.
‘This… this level of skill… and he has No Rating?’
Something was wrong.
Deeply, fundamentally wrong.
This East Asian player simply didn’t belong in a regional tournament of this caliber.
This was, quite literally, a one-sided execution.

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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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