I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 147

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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 – Chapter 147
Byeon Woo-bin, 7-dan.
His mood had been poor of late.
The film , a biopic of professional Baduk player Kim In-ha.
A supporting female professional Baduk player character named ‘Mina’—a Zainichi Korean actress cast in the role.
Anyone with eyes could see that Yu Jeuh-ha was the inspiration.
He, more than anyone, recognized it at a glance.
And that fact weighed heavy on his chest.
[Exclusive] Actress Jeong Si-a Cast as Female Lead in …… “Becomes Kim In-ha’s Woman”
Kim In-ha’s woman.
The phrase made him sick to see.
Even knowing the reporters had woven fact and fiction together for the sake of promotion.
With them officially linked in the press and the director having based the character on Yu Jeuh-ha, their relationship became impossible to doubt.
‘They’re definitely dating.’
A remark he’d caught from Park Sang-won drifted back to him.
The Nichirenhai finals.
Yu Jeuh-ha, who lived in Kyoto, had come to cheer and had witnessed it by chance—or so the story went.
To jokes about how perfectly they seemed to suit each other.
They’d even mentioned, half in jest, that perhaps a Korean-Japanese professional couple would be born, succeeding O Su’s Korean-Chinese pairing.
Even if that remark was meant as a casual throwaway, a fury blazed through him like wildfire.
Because he still held Yu Jeuh-ha in his heart.
‘……Forget it.’
Byeon Woo-bin forced himself to make peace with it.
It was her choice.
He was angry, but he didn’t want to become petty over something like this.
Yet, separate from all that, Kim In-ha’s presence kept growing larger.
A Baduk star.
An undefeated legend.
A film producer.
Not content with being a national representative in mixed-sport competition, he’d even won a chess championship.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he envied him.
While he himself could barely manage with Baduk alone…… Kim In-ha had branched out into diverse fields.
Debuted as a professional Baduk player, yet monopolized the world’s spotlight through his versatility.
Admiration and rivalry and jealousy.
Tangled in that web of emotions, Byeon Woo-bin reached a single conclusion.
‘……I just have to win. If I defeat Kim In-ha, I can take it all.’
The player who shattered Kim In-ha’s undefeated streak.
Another genius who toppled a genius.
In that moment, all the buzz, all the popularity, all the spotlight would turn toward him.
And he possessed more than enough skill to deserve it.
After losing to Kim In-ha in the Ciel Bank Cup integrated preliminaries last year, he had reviewed his own Baduk.
He had spent time lying on firewood and tasting gall, and now faced a new year.
The tournament had been modest in scale, but he’d claimed a second title by winning the Baekrokdam Cup early this year.
He’d also advanced from 5-dan to 7-dan.
Riding that momentum, he’d swept through seasoned 9-dan players in the domestic preliminaries of the Jinlan Cup and made his way to the main tournament.
And now, he stood on the threshold of passing through the gate that would pit him against Kim In-ha.
“I resign.”
Peng Hao, 8-dan from China.
He scooped up a handful of stones and lowered them beneath the cover of the stone container.
A resignation declared.
Currently ranked 20th in China, a rising young powerhouse had just conceded to Byeon Woo-bin.
“Well played,” Byeon Woo-bin said, bowing respectfully.
Well played.
‘That was good Baduk.’
Even by his own standard, it had been satisfying.
No glaring blunders; his Move Reading, and his sharpness besides, had overwhelmed Peng Hao.
And the true meaning of this victory lay elsewhere.
Byeon Woo-bin rose quietly from his seat and lifted his chin.
His gaze shot straight toward the dais in the Grand Ballroom.
The broadcast table—Kim In-ha, expressionless, placing a stone on the board.
‘There’s no way I’ll lose.’
Kim In-ha. Undefeated.
Whoever his opponent might be, he was not the sort of player to fall in the Round of 32.
But if—if an exception were to occur.
‘Then it has to be me.’
If Kim In-ha made it past the Round of 32, the opponent waiting for him in the next round would be none other than….
Byeon Woo-bin, 7-dan. It had to be him.

* * *
Day three of the Jinlan Cup.
I stretched in the morning light, standing by the hotel window overlooking the Huangpu River.
Yesterday in the Round of 32, I’d cleanly secured a resignation victory against Rui, a 9-dan from China.
I’d dominated the board from start to finish, and Rui never got his pieces properly into play—he was buried.
And today: the Round of 16.
My opponent was Byeon Woo-bin, 7-dan—the same player who’d publicly declared his revenge against me during the draw ceremony.
“Sharp, piercing baduk.”
Back when we’d faced each other in the Ciel Bank Cup preliminary rounds, Byeon Woo-bin had played an aggressive, cutting style—direct and ruthless.
Similar to Ci Hao, 9-dan, who pours emotion into his stones.
Not a complete player like Jeong Si-hu, 9-dan, or O Su, 9-dan—a perfect hexagon of balanced skill—but among domestic players, he belonged to the elite tier of offensive power.
“His stability was his weakness, but……he’s shored that up.”
The growth curve evident in his resignation victory yesterday and his Baekrokdam Cup championship record from earlier this year was genuinely frightening.
He’d amplified his strengths into dominance and patched his weaknesses into solidity.
And the catalyst for that, almost certainly—
“It was me.”
I was no longer the challenger. Now I was the one being challenged.
Trainees and professionals alike had made me their target.
I’d even become one of the reasons that moved O Su, 9-dan—a living legend—to make his comeback.
Just six months ago, fresh out of a provincial university, working as a security guard at a bank, I’d spent my days envying someone else’s success. Now I’d become someone others publicly aimed to defeat.
So much had changed in so little time.
I set aside the sentiment and went for my usual light jog, keeping to routine.
After showering, I headed down to the restaurant with Jeong Hae-sang to grab breakfast.
There we joined Park Sang-won at his table.
“O Su left early, and Woo-bin is having his meal separately.”
I nodded quietly.
If everyone had their own routine, the thing to do was respect it.
It could throw off a match.
“O Su’s opponent today is Ci Hao, 9-dan, correct?”
“Yes. Coincidentally, both of them wanted to face you……but one of them won’t get the chance.”
Park Sang-won was right—those two had both publicly singled me out at the draw ceremony.
But with the seeding split the way it was, they’d only have a shot at me if they made the finals.
‘Either one winning would be no surprise.’
Their styles were polar opposites, but in pure strength, both were top-tier world-class players.
The match would probably be decided by something very small.
“……Your opponent is Woo-bin, right? Man, the Round of 16 already. We’re meeting too early. If we’d faced in the semifinals or finals, our side would’ve swept the trophy.”
“As long as O Su and Kim Eun-woo, 9-dan, make it to the semifinals on the other side, we’re fine.”
Park Sang-won asked me teasingly, watching my reply.
“So who reaches the A-seed finals then?”
“Hard to say. Between me and Woo-bin—whoever’s stronger will get there.”
I smiled lightly and sidestepped the question.
After breakfast, I went back upstairs and changed into semi-formal attire.
When the time came, I left the room and took the elevator down to the lobby on the first floor.
As I headed toward the Grand Ballroom, the Photo Wall came into view.
Byeon Woo-bin, 7-dan, had arrived first and was just finishing his interview before heading into the playing hall.
I walked straight to the Photo Wall without waiting.
Camera flashes burst. Microphones were thrust toward me.
I spoke fluent Mandarin, so no interpreter was needed.
“Many players have said they want to face you. What do you think is the reason?”
I chuckled softly and answered.
“Maybe they think I’m easy prey?”
For a moment, laughter erupted from the press section.
A Chinese journalist with a narrow forehead, wearing a slightly prejudiced expression, raised his hand to ask a question.
“But it’s unprecedented for Korean players themselves to nominate a fellow countryman at international tournaments. We’ve also heard you’re eating separately…… Is there perhaps some discord between you?”
The journalists’ eyes gleamed at the provocative question. Their faces betrayed their anticipation for my response.
Quite amusing.
It was impressive how they’d learned about us eating separately only recently.
‘……Wait, is Byeon Woo-bin really discord?’
Of course, it was only a one-directional arrow, not mutual conflict.
I answered calmly.
“Yes, there is discord.”
“Really?”
The journalist pressed, clearly excited.
He hadn’t expected such a straightforward admission.
I nodded lightly.
“Yes. Not just those two, but I also have discord with Ci Hao 9-dan and Fujisaki Yuya 9-dan.”
The journalists’ eyes flashed with intensity.
In that moment, names that had been nothing more than a public hit list were confirmed from my lips with the label of ‘discord.’
The atmosphere grew even more heated.
I savored the fervor for a moment, then added briefly.
“……The list of people I have discord with will only keep growing. Because I’ll keep winning.”
I set down the microphone with an easy smile.
A subtle disappointment crossed the journalists’ faces, which had been swollen with anticipation.
They’d hoped for exposés or confessions of conflict, but the discord I spoke of had no substance to it.
If I had to put a name to it, it was pure competitive spirit itself.
The moment I stepped into the match hall, I headed straight for the broadcast table.
Byeon Woo-bin, 7-dan, who was already seated, sat with his eyes closed in meditation.
As I took my place across from him, he sensed my presence and slowly opened his eyes.
“I won’t lose today.”
It was the first thing he’d said in four days of silence at the hotel.
That single sentence carried his resolve entirely.
“……Same here. I have no intention of losing either.”
At the referee’s signal, the camera lights came on, and the broadcast began.
We set down our Go stone containers and prepared for the opening move.
‘Black.’
Black stone, determined by the preliminary stone drawing.
Unlike white in chess, black can move first.
And my Baduk style itself favors black on the board.
But.
‘……I can’t exactly call it an advantage.’
Unlike Korea, which gives six-and-a-half stones as compensation, the Chinese tournament gives seven-and-a-half.
A full stone more.
Because of this, white’s advantage overwhelms black’s edge, making it statistically dominant enough to be called the ‘white advantage era.’
Still, this too is part of the tournament.
I lifted a black stone with my index and middle fingers and placed the opening move.
Click.
Small corner.
White responded without hesitation at the star point. We then exchanged the small corners on both sides.
Now came the crossroads of choice.
Whether to invade the 3-3 point or solidify the small corner…… my deliberation was brief.
‘Go for actual territory.’
Byeon Woo-bin’s Baduk style is inherently combative.
Even if I tried to avoid a fight, he would certainly push for one.
So it was wiser to reduce the compensation gap from the start.
Click.
Two-space reinforcement at the small corner.
Predictably, white advanced to the lower-right small corner, and I matched the balance with a low three-space pincer attack.
White played lightly to break through, and I grew my lower side’s shape while balancing the scales.
As the opening and midgame continued this way.
Click.
As I jumped one space toward the center, white pressed me down at the seventh line.
Then came the succession of blocks.
Click.
White cut off my stone as if he’d been waiting for exactly this moment.
‘He’s cutting there?’
The two-space jump in the upper right corner—that was my territory.
To anyone watching, White’s cut looked reckless, a move that put him at a disadvantage.
And yet.
Click.
Byeon Woo-bin’s next move came without hesitation.
An attachment.
White drove straight through the gap in my Two-Space Reinforcement at the Small Corner.
‘……No. Surely not.’
My eyes dimmed in that instant.
We were only at move twenty-three.
The opening hadn’t even finished.
Yet the weight of this single stone could not be dismissed lightly.
‘It’s certain. A prepared sequence.’
Variations honed through AI research, polished to a fine edge.
Perhaps at this very moment, dozens of variations were already mapped out in Byeon Woo-bin’s mind.
For the first time, I found myself in the snare.
One misstep, and the loss would be catastrophic.
I had never imagined he would study me this thoroughly, prepare an opening strategy that accounted for my very nature.
Without thinking, I lifted my gaze to Byeon Woo-bin.
‘……He’s been sharpening his teeth.’
The predator.
I had always been the one with jaws open, the one who hunted and consumed.
But in this moment, a chill ran through me—the sudden awareness that I might not be the predator, but the prey.

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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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