I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 143

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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 143
‘……As expected, he won’t be easy.’
I attempted a Destabilization move cloaked in recklessness, grounded in precise calculation.
An attractive piece exchange.
A crumbling position.
A trap impossible to avoid.
Yet John Wall showed no surprise at my move, no excitement.
As if prepared long ago, he traced only the optimal path with perfect precision, stabilizing his position.
‘The optimal move. Just one. That exact square where he slips past my trap.’
I lifted my chin, studying him.
The quiet eyes fixed on the chessboard held not a tremor of uncertainty.
‘This is the true depth of a Grandmaster.’
The cold clarity that chooses long-term stability and advantage over immediate material gain.
In Baduk terms, it approached the mastery of a Master.
A realm where easy victory was beyond imagination.
“…….”
I glanced at the Timing Clock.
John Wall had been deliberating for nearly ten minutes.
Which meant this position mattered to him as much as it mattered to me.
‘And it does.’
The moment I chose the Evans Gambit, the risk fell heavier on my side.
A piece exchange made at a cost.
If my position collapsed here, defeat would follow immediately.
In suffocating tension,
I quietly raised my hand and signaled the arbiter.
“Restroom.”
The arbiter nodded at my curt word.
I rose and headed toward the restroom at once.
In any long match — Baduk or chess, over three hours of deep play — restroom breaks were routine.
Since Yu Jeuh-ha had started bringing me tea, they’d become even more frequent.
‘But it does help my focus.’
After finishing and washing my hands, I left the restroom.
The arbiter was waiting outside the door.
Being an upper board, security felt tight.
The moment I sat back down, my eye caught a newly placed black bishop.
Checking the clock, it had been played the instant I stood.
‘……A move within my projections.’
Swish.
I advanced my bishop diagonally deep without a moment’s hesitation.
Bc4.
It might not be the answer.
A move to shatter equilibrium.
Simply another strike to shake the board again.
But my intuition spoke.
‘This move will make him waver, without doubt.’
After deliberating for over five minutes, John Wall moved his queen.
A response to block my bishop’s advance.
But it was a move that tightened the noose around his own neck.
‘……Caught.’
I advanced my knight immediately.
Nc3.
Black’s position, which had struggled to avoid losing material, was snared in a trap with this single move.
“……!”
John Wall’s face contorted.
He, who had deliberated at length, moved his rook as a final resort.
Swish.
A desperate struggle for survival.
Yet even that was nothing but meaningless thrashing.
It lay within my calculations.
Swish.
After the bishop exchange, I pushed my rook forward to the center as if I’d been waiting for this moment.
Re1.
The knight forked, threatening both the king and queen simultaneously.
‘It’s over.’
Black’s position had crumbled, and the trap was completely sealed.
That’s why his hand could no longer move with any ease.
No matter what move he made, he must know by now that defeat was unavoidable.
“…….”
John Weir bit his lip hard.
Then, with visible strain, he extended his hand.
An acknowledgment of defeat.
I nodded quietly and accepted the handshake.
‘I won.’
But before I could even savor the victory,
Swish.
John Weir released my hand, then raised his again to call the arbiter.
‘What?’
I tilted my head in confusion, watching him.
John Weir’s expression was not the calm acceptance of defeat.
Indignation and fury.
And a look of steely resolve.
He whispered something quietly to the arbiter as they approached.
A moment later, the arbiter nodded and walked toward me.
“An allegation of cheating has been raised. We’ll need to conduct an investigation, so your cooperation is requested.”
I stopped arranging the chessboard.
Cheating?
An investigation?
It was so absurd I couldn’t find words.
My bewildered gaze instinctively fixed on the arbiter’s face.
“……Me?”

* * *
John Weir had always thought of himself as “the ruler of London.”
Though his name might carry little weight on the international stage, the London Open had always been his domain.
He’d won it last year.
The year before, he finished second.
The title of “local Grandmaster” that the London chess community bestowed on him was no empty honor.
At least at this London Open, he harbored the unshakeable confidence that no one dared challenge him.
And it was against such a man that Kim In-ha faced him in round nine.
A rating of barely 2100.
Just a newcomer who’d won at some minor open tournament in the provinces.
And to make matters worse, he played with a camera rolling for entertainment broadcast—to John Weir’s eyes, it felt like a desecration, turning this sacred battleground into a circus.
‘……I never thought the London Open would become such a farce.’
Nothing sat right with him.
And by round eight, his game records were filled with too many doubts.
‘How can a 2100 player move like that?
Chess isn’t a game where talent announces itself overnight.
Even the current world champion, Lars Ellingsen, grew through countless defeats in his childhood.
Only true geniuses like José Raúl Capablanca and Garry Kasparov could follow such a path.
Eventually, his thoughts tilted in one direction.
‘……Cheating?
He recalled the shadow of misconduct that had surfaced lately in chess circles—a specter he knew all too well.
And the ninth-round game that followed only hardened his suspicion into certainty.
Evans Gambit.
He navigated the perilous opening flawlessly, each move calculated as if ten steps ahead.
The style of play suggested someone at least his own Grandmaster level—or even reminiscent of Super Grandmasters.
By the time suspicion transformed into conviction,
‘……And he even left the board unattended?’
That was decisive.
And right after returning from the restroom, a move played without hesitation, driven straight down like a hammer.
The bishop’s diagonal advance.
Bc4.
At first glance, it was an unfamiliar square.
Most players wouldn’t have given it a second look—an unconventional move.
Yet the longer one studied it, the more enigmatic it became.
It was impossible to say decisively that it was bad, or conversely, that it was a good move outright.
It was as though the intent remained unknowable, yet an incomprehensible momentum seemed to shake the entire board.
‘Damn it.’
Neither my Move Reading nor his.
There seemed to be some hidden aim, but grasping its true nature proved difficult.
The path I’d chosen after that long deliberation felt neutralized in mere seconds.
After agonizing, the move I settled on as a countermeasure was moving the queen.
In that moment, White’s Nc3 and Re1 followed.
The pressure descended like a snare, draining all color from my mind.
A sensation as though blood were rushing backward.
‘There’s nothing left to see. This is definitely cheating.’
John Wol could hold back no longer.
He clenched his teeth, resigned the game, and without hesitation called for the arbiter.
And spoke with firm resolve and a low voice.
“I am raising an allegation of cheating.”

* * *
‘How absurd.’
A famous line from a villain in a movie.
That was precisely how I felt right now.
At a time when I should have been standing on the awards stage, savoring the victory of the London Open.
Instead, I was walking through a narrow corridor within Kensington Olympia, heading toward the arbitration room.
According to the regulations of the World Chess Federation, when an allegation of cheating is raised, the protocol is to secure the game record and conduct post-match verification.
‘…An AI engine analysis.’
Simply put, a process of feeding the game record into artificial intelligence and checking the match rate.
Beyond that, there were also time away from the board and inspection of personal belongings.
As my expression hardened, Kang Seung-hu patted my shoulder in comfort.
“Just bear with it a little longer. They’re only doing this because you played so well. What can you do?”
Sara Linova stood by my side as well.
“…In-ha’s chess today was so beautiful that even an AI engine couldn’t imitate it. He spat in our faces.”
Her eyes gleamed with a frost-like sharpness.
The way she glared at John Wol’s receding figure made it feel as though she were angry on my behalf—and I didn’t mind that feeling at all.
It was always good to have someone in your corner.
Yet as with all things, not every reaction was the same.
‘He’s absolutely delighted.’
O Hyeon-mu, the producer of Checkmate.
He was doing little to hide his pleasure at seeing me embroiled in such a situation.
In entertainment, an unpredictable incident translated directly into viewership ratings.
An allegation of cheating—from a producer’s perspective, it was a golden opportunity for drama that couldn’t be missed.
Thud, thud.
I stared straight ahead at John Wol’s back as we walked.
In that moment, as though sensing my gaze, he stiffened his neck and turned his head slightly to the side.
Our eyes met.
It wasn’t difficult to read the emotion in his gaze.
Unshakeable conviction.
A cold resolve untouched by any sense of injustice.
‘…You made this mess. You’ll have to answer for it.’
We arrived at the arbitration room at the end of the corridor.
“No entry is permitted except for the player themselves. We appreciate your understanding.”
Grayson, serving as chief arbiter, issued the exclusion order.
I gave everyone a reassuring look and then stepped into the arbitration room.
A monitor sat in the center of the table.
The artificial intelligence “DeepZero” was running on the screen.
“Please, be seated.”
John Wol and I sat facing each other.
One of the referees pulled out a smartphone and began recording.
It was documentation to preserve whether the verification process had been conducted fairly.
“The allegation raised by John Wall is cheating through fraud.”
Assistant referee Daniel spoke calmly, his eyes on the scoresheet.
“He did leave for the restroom midway through.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. A field referee accompanied him, and his time away was brief.”
An objective, matter-of-fact response.
His tone carried no emotion.
“The additional search of his personal effects revealed nothing suspicious.”
I nodded.
Chief referee Grayson looked between us both before making his declaration.
“We will now begin AI engine verification based on the game records we’ve collected.”
He checked the scoresheet and moved the pieces on the chessboard.
With each move, notation symbols appeared on the screen.
-!
-!!
-!!
Most were marked as “good moves” or “excellent moves.”
It made sense—chess openings had already established many lines like standard sequences.
Beyond that, the chessboard was narrower than a Go board, with relatively fewer possible variations.
High correspondence rates in the opening phase were inevitable.
Then it happened.
b4.
White’s pawn sacrifice.
-!?
The Evans Gambit I had chosen.
For the first time, a judgment appeared: “interesting move.”
Chief referee Grayson nodded slightly.
“No issues up to this point.”
I watched the situation unfold with ease.
Meanwhile, as the sequence continued, John Wall’s expression grew increasingly grave.
“Here—from this next move onward, something seems suspicious.”
Certainty rang through his voice.
I watched quietly.
I was curious how far his accusations would go.
And there on the chessboard appeared that move.
The one I’d played immediately after returning from the restroom.
Bc4.
The move that drove John Wall toward defeat.
In that instant, the AI chess engine’s accuracy evaluation appeared on the monitor.
-?!
A suspicious move.
A dangerous move.
Far from an “excellent move” or “brilliant spot”—a choice that was human, experimental, uncertain.
“Hmm, this is…”
One of the referees murmured softly.
The air in the room shifted.
Especially for John Wall.
His face had flushed crimson.
The scene he had presented as “decisive proof” was now revealed by the AI assessment to be unstable and irrational instead.
I spoke calmly, eyes fixed on the monitor.
“I’d like to see Black’s response.”
Chief referee Grayson nodded and moved Black’s piece.
In that moment, the symbol that appeared on screen.
-??
A blunder.
A fatal mistake.
The referees’ gazes flickered briefly toward John Wall.
And his expression—already suffused with shame—twisted into something worse.
He’d dug his own grave, succumbing to my psychological warfare and pressure.
“……I was trying to rattle him with momentum. I did have my eye on that position, but.”
I swallowed my scorn, and let a cold smile slip into my voice as I spoke.
“For a Grandmaster, you fell for that rather easily, didn’t you?”

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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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