I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 148

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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 148
“My, Woo-bin’s been on quite a roll lately…… looks like he’s come sharpening his blade to land himself a big catch.”
Park Ji-man’s Baduk in channel.
The channel’s host, Park Ji-man, let out a string of admiring exclamations as the opening play unfolded.
“……Black has only two choices at the corner attachment—tilt inward or outward. But whichever one Black picks, White can live independently. It’s brilliant. Woo-bin, you really did your homework, didn’t you?”
He paused, studying the reference diagram from the AI ‘Deepstone’ displayed on the auxiliary monitor with deliberate care.
The best moves both Black and White could possibly make.
But the reference diagram’s graph tilted unmistakably toward one side.
Black’s path forward was essentially a single road.
Despite the open space around Black’s territory, there weren’t many moves available.
White, by contrast, branched into dozens of variations depending on the response, and the ensuing board states shifted like ten thousand transformations.
To anyone watching, White held the initiative.
“This is rough for Black, isn’t it? White has plenty of room to create variations, but if Black misplays even one stone, he could lose all his territory. Even playing optimally, he’s just barely maintaining the board state—I wouldn’t call it favorable at all.”
Park Ji-man’s voice trailed off as his eyes narrowed.
The countless games Kim In-ha had played flashed through his mind.
In the early days, opening strategy had been his weakness, but recently that vulnerability had vanished.
He’d gained stability, and often demonstrated dominance even in the opening play.
Middle game was always his strength, and with so many victories by resignation, he rarely reached the endgame—but those rare endgame appearances were world-class, beyond question.
Yet.
‘……Has In-ha ever deliberated this long in the opening before?’
Never.
Recalling the countless games he’d commentated, there was not a single instance of this kind of play from the opening.
It meant that Byeon Woo-bin’s preparation was flawless.
A custom-tailored killing technique honed through AI research, specifically designed for Kim In-ha.
The decisive blow prepared to catch the world’s highest-ranked player was only now beginning to shine.
Tap.
After his long deliberation, Kim In-ha placed a stone.
A six-line tilt at the corner attachment.
An intent to concede the corner’s interior while protecting the territory and influence on the right side.
Then.
White, without hesitation, tilted at three-three.
A confident move, as if no other option even deserved consideration.
“Ah…… In-ha’s deliberating again. He’s using too much time in the opening.”
Park Ji-man expressed his concern carefully.
It was exactly as he said.
Kim In-ha was spending roughly three minutes on each stone.
While the match was long-consideration go with two hours per side, time allocation was essential given the middle game combat ahead.
If he spent too much time here, he’d certainly be hamstrung in the middle game.
Yet he proceeded as if unconcerned with such calculations, deliberate and cautious.
“I understand. The handicap burden is heavy—if the territory gaps widen in the opening, there’s no answer.”
Tap.
Then, breaking the silence, Kim In-ha’s next stone was placed on the board.
A move that blocked White at the six-line.
Blue Spot.
Byeon Woo-bin responded without a moment’s hesitation, escaping the confinement.
A confident, rapid move.
“One mountain after another. From here on, the variations get truly complex, everyone.”
Kim In-ha fell into deep deliberation once more.
And the next move followed.
Blue Spot.
“Still, In-ha’s responding with precision moves. The question is whether he can keep doing that…… ”
Yet the sequence continued differently from Park Ji-man’s concern.
Tap.
Blue Spot.
Tap.
Another Blue Spot.
The accuracy was remarkable, yet White still held the initiative.
“This is Black’s trap point. He must precisely push forward in confinement and leave a one-space gap to protect the right side. Miss the sequence and Black could fall far behind.”
At that moment, Kim In-ha’s stone was placed once more.
Tap.
Blue Spot.
‘…Again?’
No—it wasn’t another one.
The next move, and the one after that, all Blue Spot.
Each placement flawless, without a hair’s breadth of error.
The chat erupted.
-Kuksoo, how many Blue Spots in a row now?
-…Nine, so far.
-And Kuksoo, you’re playing exactly one move every three minutes. Like you’ve timed it to the second.
-Could it be time management?
-Is that even something you can control like that?
-I probably shouldn’t say this, but…is Kuksoo cheating? This accuracy rate doesn’t make sense.
Click.
Click.
The tenth Blue Spot.
Followed immediately by the eleventh.
Park Ji-man exhaled the breath he’d been holding and clutched at his head.
“I—I’m losing my mind. There’s no other way to put it.”
Blue Spot was the best move, the one closest to perfection.
It marked the highest expected win rate the AI could assign.
Even among the world’s elite players, high AI accuracy in the opening phase wasn’t unheard of.
But.
“…In-ha’s never been a player with high AI accuracy. If anything, among the world’s very best, he’d rank last.”
And that was the truth that made no sense.
In modern Baduk, where players study, analyze, and learn from AI.
For Kim In-ha—ranked dead last in Blue Spot accuracy—to reign as a world champion.
Yet in merely half a year, Kim In-ha had swept three world titles and ascended to the summit.
“But today it’s different. He’s playing only the Blue Spots with the highest expected win rates.”
He pushed through his excitement to continue.
“It’s as if…he’s showing us that all this time, he could have played like the AI, but chose not to.”
The existing language that explained and symbolized Kim In-ha’s Baduk style.
Sensory moves.
Intuitive, human Baduk.
Psychological disruption through Shaking.
But now that was no longer enough.
‘…We called O 9-dan the flawless player.’
Sage of Numbers O Su, 9-dan.
Flawless, perfect Baduk.
He played in the pre-AI era, yet pursued the style closest to what AI would become.
Alongside Jeong Si-hu 9-dan, the ideal every professional aspired to reach and revered as their standard.
But perhaps that would change now.
The certainty struck him that many professionals might be redefining their aspirations.
Kim In-ha’s Baduk right now was that formidable.
‘The most perfect form a professional can aspire to reach.’
A harmony of styles that transcends any single discipline.
Baduk that seemed to stand at the very apex a professional could attain.
He murmured the words that had risen to the tip of his tongue, as if speaking to himself.
“…Perhaps In-ha’s Baduk will become the direction the era itself moves toward.”

* * *
Byeon Woo-bin, 7-dan, remained composed.
He drew out his thoroughly prepared study moves, and Kim In-ha 9-dan appeared to be following into them methodically.
Yet when the complications unfolded in the upper left and lower edge, he gained no decisive advantage.
Even if he held a narrow edge in territory, the margin was too small to sway the outcome.
The layers of traps Byeon Woo-bin had woven, Kim In-ha 9-dan escaped cleanly and completely.
‘…He breaks through so perfectly? Just like that?’
Byeon Woo-bin 7-dan clenched his jaw.
There was a time he had dismissed In-ha for his amateur origin.
But he’d lost at the Ciel Bank Unified Preliminaries, and watching his rise afterward, he’d come to acknowledge his strength.
So today, he’d pushed himself to study and prepare even more desperately.
He had dissected Byeon Woo-bin’s Baduk style and game records, probing for weaknesses in his opening strategy.
But it wasn’t working.
Not quite a failure, but the exchanges had yielded nothing of substance.
‘……No, that’s not true. I’ve gained something.’
He forced himself to refocus.
His eyes shifted from the board to the timing clock.
He had one hour and twenty-two minutes remaining.
Kim In-ha 9-dan had forty-three minutes.
With only fifty-seven moves played, at the threshold where the middle game was truly beginning, the time advantage was undeniably substantial.
The board state was evenly balanced.
The battle ignited on the right flank had spread to the center, a chaos of competing claims.
Both black and white had scattered floating groups; unavoidable combat loomed directly ahead.
‘I’ll pin him down with my Baduk.’
Combat.
Move Reading.
Instinct.
Though Kim In-ha 9-dan was the one drawing attention now, it was he who had earned the most acclaim for aggressive play before this.
Now was the time to reclaim that reputation.
Click.
He pressed the attack, leveraging his time advantage.
The position twisted and tangled, lurching with brutal volatility.
‘His responses are quick.’
Was he conscious of the clock?
Kim In-ha 9-dan responded smoothly, without a single unnecessary hesitation.
That posed no problem for him.
Fast moves without sufficient calculation would inevitably expose weaknesses.
‘……He’s attacking there?’
Byeon Woo-bin 7-dan furrowed his brow.
An unexpected timing.
Yet a brilliantly precise vital point.
A destabilizing move that went beyond mere calculation—psychological pressure at its finest.
‘Stay calm…… and respond.’
The moment he tried to discern the hidden intent, he found himself already lost in long consideration, without meaning to.
Meanwhile, Kim In-ha flowed forward smoothly with intuitive moves.
Click.
A key point had opened up.
The momentum was gradually tilting in his favor.
‘Damn.’
He should have been the one using time to destabilize his opponent, yet here he was being shaken instead.
But he couldn’t afford to retreat.
There was still ample room to seek a turnaround.
Click.
Another sharp vital point.
Even as he fought for escape, Kim In-ha was gradually, relentlessly claiming actual territory.
Byeon Woo-bin 7-dan clenched his teeth.
He was falling behind.
Like clothes soaked by drizzle.
The time advantage was rendered meaningless; black, now commanding the momentum, was beginning to pull ahead in territory as well.
‘I can’t let myself be dragged back any further.’
Then it came to him—an old Baduk maxim.
Great Horse Does Not Die.
A large group does not perish.
When Life and Death and Breakthrough became entangled, Kim In-ha would have no choice but to squander time.
Push him into Speed Reading Mode and mistakes would come. He was certain of it.
And yet.
Click.
Kim In-ha 9-dan’s hand carried no hesitation.
As if reading from an answer key, with each move he identified exactly the placement that would most trouble white.
‘……Why won’t he waver?’
It wasn’t just one move.
Every move had been flawless, precise as a master formula.
Even as he’d fought to hold the line against impossible odds.
“We are now entering Speed Reading Mode.”
Three rounds of it.
Kim In-ha now had to play every remaining move within sixty seconds.
A flicker of relief passed through Byeon Woo-bin’s eyes.
‘There’s still a chance.’
And then, in that instant.
Tap.
Black didn’t exhaust the Speed Reading time—the stone fell with absolute certainty.
‘……He’s finished calculating already?’
Byeon Woo-bin’s gaze wavered.
Both Black and White had large groups hanging in the balance.
Territory count meant nothing.
One error—just one—meant annihilation, immediate defeat.
His fingers had gone slick with sweat.
Dozens, hundreds of variations coursed through his mind like lightning.
Tap.
Black’s move again.
Sharp, precise, without a moment’s hesitation.
‘This is impossible……Under Speed Reading pressure, how can he respond with such accuracy?’
White’s large group was beginning to crumble.
He thrashed for an escape route, but Black’s sequence had sealed every passage.
Time’s advantage meant nothing.
A chill crawled down his spine.
‘I thought I’d closed the gap……’
He had believed himself nearly level.
He had been certain the difference had vanished.
He was wrong.
Only now could he see the truth.
‘……The gap was always this wide. I was simply blind to it.’
Byeon Woo-bin’s pupils trembled finely.
He had prepared thoroughly.
He had held an unshakable belief that victory was possible.
But that distance he thought was within reach, all of it—it had been a mirage.
‘Damn it.’
His hand clenched on his knee, knuckles white against the fabric of his trousers.
The frustration left by an insurmountable gulf.
Even the last shred of pride he’d clung to was now cracking, fracturing, crumbling away.

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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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