I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 138

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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 Worth Money — Chapter 138
After resting for a day in Czech Republic, we boarded a train headed for Paris.
We could have flown, but rail travel was more efficient for keeping the entire film crew together.
Still, there was a certain charm to it.
Watching the landscape flow past the windows as the train carried us through Europe, I felt as though I’d stepped into a documentary.
After arriving in Paris, we spent two days working through our schedule.
Our first stop was the Eiffel Tower.
A visit meant to capture everyday moments.
I’d encountered it countless times through videos and photographs, but that iron structure standing before me in person radiated an overwhelming presence.
And then we found our highlight destination.
Café de la Régence.
Since its opening in 1687, it had been called the holy ground of chess.
Napoleon in his youth, Benjamin Franklin, the philosopher Rousseau, and even Marx—
they had all played chess at this very table.
My chest swelled with emotion.
The resonance that this place’s history carried.
In terms of Baduk, it was as if I were sitting in the seat where the great masters of centuries past had sat.
And now.
We had completed our Paris schedule and were heading toward England.
Eurostar.
The high-speed rail that crossed beneath the English Channel underwater.
From my Standard Premier seat, the tunnel beneath the sea was pitch black.
Only our faces reflected in the window pane were clearly visible.
“The afterglow of Régence lingers so strongly.”
Sara Linova opened her mouth, her eyes still lost in reverie.
“It’s a shame it wasn’t preserved as it was, but I felt as though I’d walked through the very footsteps of chess itself.”
“I feel the same way, Sara.”
I nodded in agreement.
As time changed, Café de la Régence, once the holy ground of chess, had transformed into a restaurant famous for its escargot.
Kang Seung-hu, sitting beside me, laughed and interjected.
“I still find it strange. The three of us conversing like this in English…”
“You said English frightened you?”
Sara Linova turned to me and asked suddenly.
“Yes. I used to get queasy during the college entrance exam too, which gave me trouble. But now that I’m actually here, my confidence is building little by little.”
I laughed softly and deflected.
It was true that I’d bombed the English listening section on the college entrance exam.
But that didn’t mean I’d been fluent in English before this.
I was simply making excuses for my suddenly improved language ability.
Kang Seung-hu nodded.
“I understand, given how well you speak Chinese… but do you know how shocked I was at the Czech Open?”
“So was I. I never thought you’d memorize and recite that long sentence in Czech without any warning.”
I answered calmly.
“It’s a matter of courtesy. Speaking in the host country’s language, and as the champion no less.”
“Respect.”
Sara spoke briefly, then met my gaze.
Her smile seemed somehow more vivid than before.
As the time we’d spent together accumulated, the distance between us had seemed to narrow slightly.
With her arms crossed, she continued in a serious voice.
“The London Open.”
Its official name was the London Chess Open.
A traditional British chess tournament held every winter.
I was now heading to England to participate in that stage.
Sara Linova continued.
“The main field is FMs in the 2300 rating range, and there will be at least ten IMs rated 2400 and above. There should be quite a few local GMs as well.”
It was on a different scale from the Prague Chess Open Club Tournament.
The level of participants, the weight of competition, the very standing of the tournament itself—all were a step higher.
FM—’FIDE Master.’
A title that carried the name of master exactly as it sounded.
In Baduk terms, it was equivalent to professional promotion, just stepping onto the professional stage.
IM—’International Master.’
A professional of mid-level strength—in Baduk terms, the equivalent of a 5-dan to 7-dan player.
And then there are the GMs, the Grand Masters.
The elite of the elite, professional 8-dan and 9-dan caliber.
Every one of them was entered in this London Open section.
Kang Seung-hu added his observation while checking the International Chess Federation website on his phone.
“Your rating was announced yesterday at 2147 points. You’re practically the lowest-ranked player in the Classic section.”
A brief silence fell.
Rising from no rating to the 2100s in a single leap was impressive, yet the figure still placed him squarely in amateur territory.
It was Sara Linova who broke the quiet, her voice low and measured.
“The Czech Open was a warm-up, really. This tournament is the real proving ground. It’ll show us how far you can reach, and whether you can genuinely compete at this level.”
“It won’t be an easy challenge.”
I nodded in agreement.
Her gaze lingered on my face for a moment, then she tilted her head, a subtle smile crossing her lips.
“But you’re smiling.”
“Ah.”
Only then did I understand why she’d been studying me so intently.
I let my lips curl upward slowly.
“Just thinking about it makes me happy.”
“You’re looking forward to facing the Masters?”
“Well, you got half of it right.”
“…Half?”
Bewilderment flickered across Sara’s eyes.
She couldn’t fathom what the other half could be.
Kang Seung-hu seized the moment to jump in.
“You’re going to face those Masters and beat them, right?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I turned to face Sara Linova directly, meeting her eyes, and spoke with absolute clarity.
“I’m going to face them and win. That’s why I came all the way to England.”

* * *
Kensington Olympia Convention Hall.
A grand, traditional exhibition space in London.
The London Open, set to run for six days, officially began there.
As I moved through the crowd of participants, Kang Seung-hu asked with a note of concern.
“Aren’t you tired? You only arrived yesterday and barely got any rest.”
“I’m fine. Managing your condition is part of your skill.”
I meant it.
If you couldn’t do that much, no amount of talent would matter.
Kang Seung-hu nodded at my words.
“That’s true. Actors on drama sets—even if they’re sick, it’s seen as poor self-management.”
When we reached the tournament hall entrance, Sara Linova stepped closer to me.
“Take this.”
My eyes moved to her hand.
A small chess piece.
A king.
It was more of a charming keepsake than an actual game piece.
“I know you have talismans in the East, I believe? It may be a small trinket, but I’m giving it to you with hopes for your victory.”
“Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”
I accepted it carefully and placed it in the inner pocket of my coat.
A GM who had joined the production as a secondary coach.
She had served as both a chess mentor and a steady source of guidance.
After finishing the external registration, we entered the convention hall proper.
The air hung thick and heavy.
More than three hundred participants.
Chess boards lined the stately hall in rows, with electronic game-record displays and live broadcast monitors installed at the top five boards.
It wasn’t the world’s largest stage, but it was a different caliber entirely from the .
I confirmed my board number and took my assigned seat.
Following my routine, I arranged the black pieces neatly and waited for my opponent.
‘They said the first round pairs you with someone at a similar rating level.’
Swiss System.
Winners are paired against winners, losers against losers—a perpetual reckoning.
A moment later, a well-built man in his early thirties settled into the seat across from me.
Oliver Grant.
Rating: 2147.
Participant information published on the London Open website.
Roughly two hundred points higher than Jakub Hromadko, whom I’d faced in the Czech Open final.
‘And this is supposedly the lowest rating among all participants in this tournament.’
The level was undeniably high.
From round five onward, the odds of facing an International Master or Grand Master were steep—and now it felt real.
‘But that’s what makes it thrilling.’
Seated across the board, he aligned his pieces with deliberate precision.
Once his ritual was complete, he extended his hand, and I accepted the gesture.
The moment we released, Oliver Grant pushed a pawn forward two squares.
Nf3.
And the timing clock was pressed.
‘Catalan or English Opening—which will it be?’
Chess was truly magnificent.
In Baduk, the opening had infinite freedom.
Upper left, upper right, edges, center—you could play anywhere, and every move opened onto possibility.
But chess was different.
Your opponent came with a prepared opening, and that first move set the tone.
From that instant onward, you either followed the established sequence for that opening, or you had to deviate and meet them on new ground.
‘Ignorance leaves you defenseless.’
Sara Linova once told me that a Grand Master knows at least a thousand different opening lines and their variations.
For each line, they memorize perfectly ten to twenty moves, sometimes thirty.
In essence, a chess opening wasn’t mere opening strategy.
It was accumulated research—thousands upon thousands of games distilled into data.
And how thoroughly one had mastered that research determined who seized the initiative in the middlegame.
‘He has no intention of letting me play at ease.’
I responded immediately.
An early pawn thrust through the center.
d5.
Not the standard sequence, but a different path.
“…!”
Grant’s eyebrow twitched, barely perceptible.
Not the Catalan he’d prepared, nor the English—a third way entirely.
I immediately seized a symmetrical structure, destabilizing his balance.
Symmetrical English.
In Baduk terms, it was akin to a symmetrical opening.
White seeks to exploit first-move advantage, creating subtle asymmetries.
Black maintains equilibrium, watching for chances to strike back.
The moment this structure took shape, White’s advantage diminished.
‘There it is again.’
As my opponent’s rating climbed, the habits and thought patterns of Baduk began to seep into my chess.
The direction of my thinking.
The framework of my reasoning.
All of it flowed in that direction without my noticing.
‘…Is there any way to stop it?’
The rules were different.
Different games entirely.
Yet in the end, what we pursued was the same.
‘Baduk is my foundation.’
I had no wish to deny that.
More than that—it was precisely because of Baduk that I found this even better.
Destabilization, the signature of my Baduk style.
Moves born from human intuition and data alike.
How all of it would blend into chess, how it would shine—I found myself more eager than ever to discover that.
The board before me was no longer a simple match.
It was the process of discovering my own chess.
It was an experimental ground for building a chess style, a battlefield that needed to be proven.
The beginning of that journey was now, at the London Open round one.
I drew a deep breath and stared down at the chessboard.
‘So… shall I win this?’

* * *
Chess king Ryu Hyeon-sang.
He was in London, England now.
At the Kensington Olympia Convention Hall, no less.
Sitting before the chessboard as a participant in the London Open still felt unreal.
‘…I can’t believe he actually sent me a plane ticket.’
Kim In-ha had kept his word.
Not only the plane ticket, but hotel accommodations as well.
There was a condition attached—active cooperation with the Checkmate filming—but he had no reason to refuse.
From his perspective, it was an opportunity far too attractive to decline.
“……”
When he turned his head, Kim In-ha’s figure appeared in the distance.
Seeing him in person rather than through video, he was far more striking, with a solid build as well.
Above all, an air of ease emanated from him.
That composure likely stemmed from his experience at the highest levels of professional Baduk tournaments.
But.
‘Baduk and chess are different.’
When the production team mentioned his victory at the Czech Open, it stirred nothing in him.
Actually, to be honest, it was amusing.
Unlike Baduk, chess had regional tournaments held worldwide, and a victory in such places was hardly worth noting.
He hadn’t hidden those feelings in his pre-production interview either.
He hadn’t intentionally set out to play the villain, but the atmosphere had solidified that way, and he’d gladly lived up to the expectation.
-Tell Kim In-ha that you’ll definitely beat him and come back. We even invited him, so it would be a shame if we don’t face off at the London Open, wouldn’t it?
Ryu Hyeon-sang’s current rating was 2346.
Though the number had dropped from his peak above 2400, he had already earned three or more Norms—credentials obtained only through solid performances at international tournaments.
That was why he was still called an International Master, an IM.
His starting point was different from Kim In-ha’s, and he was never meant to stand on the same level as him.
If Kim In-ha lost in rounds one or two, the possibility of them facing off would essentially vanish.
[Let’s introduce Korean chess to the world together, shall we?]
Suddenly, Kim In-ha’s words from the Checkmate press conference echoed in his mind.
Yes, the words themselves were sound.
Introducing Korean chess to the world.
That had always been Ryu Hyeon-sang’s goal.
‘But not with you.’
Kim In-ha was not a fellow traveler on that path.
Not a rival, not even an opponent worth defeating.
Regardless of Baduk, in chess the two of them could never stand on equal ground.
What Ryu Hyeon-sang was aiming for now was far higher than that.
Not a newcomer just starting from No Rating, but the true apex.
The moment his feet touched English soil, Kim In-ha had already been erased from his mind long ago.
‘…The London Open—I’ll use it as a stepping stone to becoming a Grandmaster.’

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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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