I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 144

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Too Many Profitable Talents Chapter 144
“For a Grandmaster, you fell for that rather easily, didn’t you? Pathetic.”
“I, I—!”
John Moal’s expression twisted.
The insult struck home, and he struggled to contain his anger.
Yet with the judges present, he couldn’t let his emotions explode.
“…Let’s continue.”
Chief Arbiter Grayson pressed on with the post-game review without hesitation.
After that, the momentum swung decisively in my favor.
John Moal tried to read my intentions, but ultimately fell into a trap and lost his composure.
Once he lost the thread, he fell behind with each piece exchange, and his position crumbled.
And then.
Nc3 – !
Re1 – !!
Brilliant moves and key moves came one after another as I took control of the board.
The outcome was clear—there was nothing left to analyze.
And the blunder that sealed his fate was John Moal’s own mistake, triggered by the destabilization.
“Through this point, White’s engine correspondence rate is 79 percent.”
Deputy Arbiter Daniel spoke calmly, reading the graph on the right side of the monitor.
“That’s below the average for International Masters and Grandmasters. In fact…”
He turned his gaze toward John Moal.
“By engine correspondence alone, John Moal’s rate is higher at 86 percent.”
In that moment, John Moal’s face went rigid.
His jaw tightened, but he still refused to accept it.
“So you’re asking me to believe that a 2100-rated player makes moves like this? And this is only my second tournament appearance?”
He glared at me fiercely, his voice rising.
“Even Lars Ellingsen didn’t show this kind of performance in his early tournaments. Are you claiming this player has more talent than he does?”
His agitated voice trembled.
The way he dragged out a comparison to rationalize himself came across as pathetic.
‘…What a sorry sight.’
I’d been angry at first, but now I just found it pitiful.
A Grandmaster—in Baduk terms, the realm of a Master.
Yet his inability to acknowledge talent greater than his own proved why he’d never escaped the local circuit.
“John Moal.”
At that moment, Chief Arbiter Grayson slowly removed his glasses.
He exhaled deeply, then looked between the two of us in turn.
“Kim In-ha is a professional Baduk player.”
“…Baduk?”
John Moal’s expression hardened.
“At a level equivalent to a Super Grandmaster in chess. Currently ranked 2nd in the world at Baduk.”
“…!”
In disbelief, John Moal’s eyes fixed on me.
Even if he didn’t know who I was, he would surely understand the weight that Baduk carried.
Chess and Baduk were different disciplines, but their depth and mastery were equal if not greater in the latter.
And the title “2nd in the world” was anything but light.
Chief Arbiter Grayson continued steadily.
“During a Baduk tournament, he once followed his opponent into the bathroom on suspicion of cheating.”
“What, what did you say?”
Shock spread across John Moal’s face.
Since the words came from the arbiter and not from me, he couldn’t even offer a rebuttal.
And I was startled too.
‘…How does he know this much?’
The fact that I’d accused an opponent of cheating—or rather, that I’d pursued them to the bathroom to catch them at it.
It was something no one could know unless they truly understood who I was.
I was aware that the London Open organizers had received my personal information through their Netflix filming cooperation.
But I never expected them to know such specific details.
In other words, the organizers themselves were keeping a close eye on me.
“This match, therefore, was simply a display of his skill.”
Chief Arbiter Grayson spoke with finality.
“The allegation of foul play raised by John Moal is hereby exonerated.”
“Mm.”
John Moal said nothing more.
His lips worked in sharp movements, but he had no strength left to protest.
Chief Arbitrator Grayson looked at him directly.
Though aged, his gaze was cold.
A piercing pressure.
To John Moal, it was an unspoken demand: accept this, admit it now.
A moment of silence.
Finally, John Moal extended his trembling hand.
“……I’m sorry.”
I looked down at that hand dispassionately.
Even with an exoneration ruling, the regulations didn’t mandate a formal apology.
But.
A personal apology was warranted on grounds of sportsmanship, so Chief Arbitrator Grayson had given him the signal.
“……”
I did not take his hand.
I simply met his eyes coldly and spoke.
“Because of you, my reputation has been branded with the label of ‘cheating suspicion.'”
His gaze flickered for a moment.
My words were a hint that I could file a defamation appeal to the World Chess Federation.
If that happened, this incident would spiral beyond control.
I informed him bluntly.
“But since you’ve apologized, I won’t demand counter-sanctions from the Chess Federation.”
Relief washed across John Moal’s features.
It was a choice I didn’t want to make, but I had no choice.
If defamation appeals became frequent, players would hesitate to raise legitimate suspicions at all.
That could allow real cheaters to operate freely.
‘It’s not in line with international practice.’
Me—I can prove it regardless through overwhelming results.
As I have in Baduk, as I did in the compound.
I lowered my voice one final time, coldly.
The tone was cold and resolute.
“But I’d like you to understand one thing.”
John Moal’s gaze fixed on me.
A brief silence.
When even the sound of breathing faded, I continued.
“……Don’t try to fit others into the mold of your own standards.”
My eyes cut straight through him.
“Raising suspicions without solid evidence, forcing doubt…… it’s only shameful in the end.”

* * *
A small pub located in London.
There, a victory celebration for the London Open and a wrap-up gathering for Checkmate’s first location shoot were being held.
The staff, who had been holding their breath watching the organizers, participants, and locals, finally let go of their tension today and enjoyed themselves.
“Congratulations on your championship, In-ha.”
Director Oh Hyeon-mu, slightly tipsy, approached with a glass raised.
He looked enormously pleased.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll be honest with you. I was worried. What if you didn’t win? Should I frame it as melodrama? Go with the fighting spirit angle? I had all kinds of concerns.”
His gaze grew deeper for a moment.
The weight of someone who oversees the direction of Checkmate.
But that too passed quickly, and a broad smile spread across his face.
“But it turned out to be needless worry. In-ha, I’m telling you straight—this footage is incredible. Absolutely destructive potential. The narrative is perfect too. It’ll resonate not just domestically, but internationally.”
His voice brimmed with confidence.
He clearly trusted this outcome entirely.
I quietly lifted my whiskey glass to my lips.
“I hope so.”
“Just trust me. I’ll cut the editing beautifully. You just need to keep doing what you’re doing…… keep winning. You know what I mean?”
“That’s good to hear.”
There’s nothing I do better than win anyway.
Oh Hyeon-mu lingered beside me for about five minutes with a quiet smile, then moved to another table.
At that table, Jung Hae-sung was tilting glasses with the staff, laughing and chattering away.
‘……He’s had a rough time too.’
In fact, Jung Hae-sung had shouldered the heaviest load during this entire shoot.
He’d managed a long stay abroad while handling my laundry and minor errands, ensuring every necessary item was in place without fail.
On top of all that, he’d had to monitor my condition—his mind must have been far more exhausted than his body.
“In-ha! Why are you drinking alone?”
“Come have a drink with us.”
I lifted my head to find Kang Seung-hu and Sarah Rinova standing there.
We sat across from each other, clinked glasses, and continued talking.
The conversation naturally drifted toward the next filming schedule.
“With the London Open championship, In-ha’s rating will shoot up vertically. At least over 2500, and the Grandmaster norm will be recognized too.”
Kang Seung-hu picked up the thread.
“You need to earn three norms to meet the GM title requirements, right?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Sarah Rinova fixed her gaze directly on my eyes.
Her amber irises gleamed even more vividly under the lights.
“Timing-wise, In-ha’s next tournament will most likely be the Continental Championships.”
She continued her explanation.
The Continental Championships were each continent’s championship tournament.
The scale of participation varied by region, but International Masters and Grandmasters would compete in large numbers.
“Based on performance at that tournament, you’d be eligible to compete in the Chess World Cup.”
The Chess World Cup.
A 128-player tournament held once every two years.
It brought together top-ranked players worldwide, regional qualification winners, and specially invited players—essentially the World Cup stage of the chess world.
And most importantly.
“……Super Grandmasters also compete. They operate on a different plane. They’re overwhelmingly dominant compared to ordinary GMs.”
Super GM.
Not an official World Chess Federation title.
A term used by chess fans and journalists to refer to players rated 2700 or above.
The upper echelon of the chess world.
In Baduk terms, they’d be equivalent to the world’s top twenty elite players.
“If you reach the Chess World Cup final, you’d earn the right to compete in the World Championship candidate match……but that’s a story for later, so I’ll skip it for now.”
It was an interesting structure.
While Baduk operated as independent tournaments, chess worked differently—lower-tier results became your ticket to higher stages.
The World Chess Championship in particular had you directly challenging the sitting world champion.
Unlike Baduk, it held the prestige of being the only truly singular world champion title.
‘……There’s a long path ahead.’
The staircase leading to the World Championship was certainly steep.
But I wasn’t anxious.
Having somewhere to climb was, if anything, a pleasant prospect.
Still.
‘It’s a shame I can’t face the Super Grandmasters sooner.’
As if reading my mind, Kang Seung-hu held out his glass.
“I can tell what you’re thinking, but let’s just enjoy today, yeah? These moments matter too.”
Beside him, Sarah Rinova also lifted her glass in support.
“To the victor of today.”
Her characteristic sticky smile gleamed beneath the dim lighting.
I smiled faintly and quietly raised my glass.
“……Cheers.”
Clink.
The bright sound of glasses meeting rang out, seeming to wash away the tension and fatigue of the day cleanly.
I swallowed slowly and reflected.
Yes.
For tonight at least, it was good to empty my head and rest.

* * *
The next morning.
The smartphone resting beside my pillow began vibrating loudly.
Fumbling for it and turning on the screen, a name jumped out at me.
Jung Soo-yeon, the director.
I answered the phone, my voice still thick with sleep.
“……Hello?”
The director’s low voice came through the receiver.
-In-ha, an official letter just arrived from the World Chess Federation.
For a moment, yesterday’s events flashed through my mind.
‘Could it be about the cheating allegations?’
If they were sending an official document, I’d thought things might be more complicated than I’d expected.
“What does it say?”
-Well…… The World Chess Federation is requesting whether they can review your Chess World Cup wild card invitation.
All at once, sleep scattered like startled birds.
“……What?”
My heart skipped a beat.
The Chess World Cup.
That meant I could bypass the Continental Championships, the lower tier of competition.
A direct invitation to the very pinnacle — a literal letter of passage to the summit.
An irrepressible smile bloomed across my lips.
‘……I could get there faster than I thought.’

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————