I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 19

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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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A Talent Too Profitable to Ignore Chapter 19
Saturday morning.
Even though I wasn’t going to work, I left home early.
The cold morning air brushed against my face.
My steps down the hillside felt light and heavy at once.
The 11th Presidential Cup National Baduk Tournament
My first official entry into the National Strongest Division.
Amateur rankers.
Researchers aiming to become professional Go players.
Formidable opponents, or so I’d heard, yet strangely I wasn’t afraid.
If anything, I was eager.
The stronger the opponent, the sharper the rush when victory came.
This was what they called dopamine addiction.
‘Baduk doesn’t worry me. But……’
Standing at the roadside waiting, a black car appeared in the distance, approaching slowly.
A Mercedes-Benz S-Class.
Less a car than a hotel on wheels.
Today, I was meant to ride in that car to the tournament venue for the Presidential Cup.
‘Ugh…… one night, two days with the Branch Manager.’
He wasn’t as intimidating as he used to be.
But that didn’t mean things were easy, either.
And now I was supposed to spend a night and two days glued to his side?
In every way, my nerves were on edge.
Screech.
The Branch Manager rolled down the passenger window and called out.
“Kim, get in.”
I climbed into the car and fastened my seatbelt.
Cushioning more comfortable than a massage chair enveloped me.
As my body relaxed, my mind loosened a little too.
‘Yeah, if you can’t avoid it, might as well enjoy it.’
With that shift in mindset, things felt easier.
“How’s your condition?”
“Good. How about you, sir?”
“Good too. Slept well.”
The Branch Manager nodded once and eased smoothly onto the accelerator.
The car glided silently across the road.
To avoid an awkward silence, I started chatting about this and that.
“Do Branch Manager and Jung won’t be participating?”
“Both of them have things to do.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Don’t worry about it. You just focus on playing well.”
We stopped at a rest area for a while.
I used the restroom, bought a coffee, and returned to the car.
Just as we were about to start the engine and pull back onto the road.
My smartphone rang.
[Yeon-hee: Have a great time on your trip with the Branch Manager! This time I’ll even forgive you if you mess around hehe]
‘What is she talking about.’
I let out an involuntary laugh.
The “mess around” joke was funny, but those two little hehe’s at the end softened something in my chest.
The Branch Manager, who’d been quietly watching me, asked.
“Your girlfriend?”
“What? No. Just…… someone I know. A younger acquaintance.”
I deflected quickly.
If I’d said Yeon-hee’s name, it would’ve invited misunderstandings for sure.
“That’s how it always starts.”
“Sir?”
“You start as someone you know, then she becomes your girlfriend, and one day you look up and you’re living together.”
I coughed awkwardly at that.
‘Me and Yeon-hee?’
I’d never thought of it that way, not once.
He’d been a good junior even back in university, and nothing had changed now.
Just a good junior—that was the extent of it.
But then.
‘He’s been reaching out a lot more lately, hasn’t he.’
There was a reason for that.
I’d already exhausted all the photos I’d taken for social media during my trip to Namwon.
We were more like accomplices, using each other in a measured, convenient way.
That was exactly the distance between us.
In any case.
After racing down the Highway for over an hour and exiting at the interchange, the navigation’s voice came through.
—You are now approaching your destination.
An unfamiliar landscape unfolded beyond the window.
The Provincial City Hall Sports Center.
A banner reading “Presidential Cup National Baduk Tournament.”
The crowd milling about in lively disorder.
Anticipation and tension.
The contestants’ expressions spoke volumes about the tournament’s unique atmosphere.
“This spot should work fine.”
The Branch Manager turned the wheel and pulled into a corner of the outdoor parking lot.
The gymnasium was quite busy.
Several people who appeared to be officials wore name badges around their necks, exchanging greetings with one another.
‘This is much larger than Soodam-bae.’
Among the three major amateur national tournaments, the Presidential Cup’s prestige seemed to have good reason behind it.
In every aspect—participation divisions, number of participants, prize money—it surpassed Soodam-bae by a wide margin.
“Let’s meet at lunch time.”
“Yes. Good luck with your games.”
We parted ways at the gymnasium entrance.
Since the Branch Manager was competing in the senior division, his registration desk was different from mine.
After finishing my participant registration, I headed to the tournament board where the National Strongest Division matches would be held.
I sat quietly, waiting for my game to begin, when
two elementary school boys, looking to be around ten years old, sat side by side engrossed in a game on a smartphone.
“Hey, are you gonna keep playing dirty?”
“You’re doing it too.”
“Seriously, man.”
Watching them push and jostle each other in play made me smile.
Maybe because they were so young, but they looked genuinely innocent and happy.
—The opening ceremony will begin shortly. All participants, please take your seats and maintain silence.
The announcement came, and not long after, the formal opening ceremony began.
Living up to the Presidential Cup’s name, the mayor and various organizing officials, along with representatives from the baduk association, filed onto the stage in succession.
The opening ceremony went longer than any tournament I’d participated in before.
‘Those kids are still playing games?’
Quieter than before, but still focused on their game nonetheless.
My match should be starting soon.
I was beginning to worry whether they’d even make it to their division in time.
But that wasn’t the issue.
‘When is my opponent showing up?’
My seat across the board was still empty.
If they didn’t arrive by the end of the opening ceremony, I’d win by default.
—We wish all participants victory. Thank you.
Clap, clap.
A gentle wave of applause rippled through the gymnasium.
Following the staff’s guidance, the first matches of each division began.
‘Please don’t tell me I’m getting another default win.’
Just as good memories (or so they seemed) from that first tournament were coming to mind,
the boy who’d been absorbed in that smartphone game moments earlier sat down across the baduk board from me.
A bowl cut and round-framed glasses.
A white t-shirt, trousers, and sneakers.
His frame was so small that the chair seemed oversized beside him.
I wondered if he’d made a mistake about his division, so I checked his name badge around his neck.
But.
‘The National Strongest Division?’
I rubbed my eyes more than once.
But the name and entry category were unmistakable.
National Strongest Division. Kim Tae-yul.
My first opponent.
‘At that age, competing in the National Strongest Division means… he must be a Researcher.’
A phrase from the martial arts web comics came to mind.
When you venture into the world of masters, beware the young and the old.
This was exactly that moment.
I was facing a master who could not afford even a moment of carelessness.
“Sir, shall we draw for colors?”
I nodded quietly.
We each moved our stone containers forward and drew.
The result: white.
“I look forward to learning from you.”
“Please, let’s play well together.”
After exchanging these brief courtesies, Tae-yul straightened his posture.
The slouched figure tinkering with his smartphone vanished entirely.
He sat upright now, taking in the whole board from above.
Then his small hand moved slowly forward.
Tap.
A clear, crisp sound.
Small as his frame was, there was not a moment’s hesitation in his move.
‘Whew.’
I steadied my breath.
His age had already vanished from my mind.
A Researcher means someone standing at the threshold of the professional ranks.
Even with my best effort, there was no guarantee of victory.
Tap!
I answered with a diagonal Somok of my own.
The opening moves were even.
Somok, Hwajum, Hyeobgong, then a pincer.
I expected the standard Joungseok choices to flow naturally into the framework.
‘He’s pulling back here?’
Black suddenly diverged from the Joungseok pattern.
The keystone of both black and white was cut off into an unfinished form.
It was a complex position that demanded both attack and damage control simultaneously.
‘I need to respond calmly.’
Joungseok is a covenant.
A shared understanding that both sides accept this degree of balance as no loss.
But this irregular pattern—I’ve never seen it before.
Which means my opponent has already prepared for it.
Moves chosen deliberately along the most complex and troublesome path.
A sequence that could not emerge without prior research.
As a result, I spent considerable time managing my response.
At least I managed to navigate the dangerous position without major damage.
‘Now I need to seize the initiative.’
I yielded some territory in exchange for stealing the tempo.
To draw black into combat.
I needed to take the lead and set the board’s rhythm.
But black kept thwarting my preparations at every turn.
Especially those irregular patterns—each one was razor-sharp.
‘……He’s playing moves like Artificial Intelligence.’
The unease I’d felt in my game against Wa Yong-ja not long ago.
Blue Spot.
It was a similar sensation now.
Then was Tae-yul possibly cheating right now?
‘No. That can’t be it.’
He’d done his research.
Based on Artificial Intelligence.
A style that follows the moves with higher probability rather than relying on instinct alone.
Data-driven.
Formulaic judgment.
But then.
‘Still immature.’
The Artificial Intelligence’s moves were undeniably strong.
Yet humans are not machines.
They have emotion, intuition, hesitation.
It would be impossible to play every move with machine-like precision.
‘That’s the weakness.’
A tiny misalignment.
A subtle discord.
I didn’t miss it.
“……!”
Tae-yul’s hand froze.
The middlegame.
A ferocious life-and-death struggle had erupted.
I made the complex battle more complex still.
Wherever stones clashed, the lines branched into two paths, three paths.
Small skirmishes layered upon each other, tangled and interwoven.
And finally.
Tae-yul’s expression hardened for the first time.
A single move that had no connection whatsoever to the stones already on the board.
Now it had transformed into an unexpected threat.
-We’re entering byoyomi.
Tae-yul’s pupils, which had been steady until now, wavered.
It was the first time.
The first time agitation showed in his eyes.
Until now, Tae-yul’s moves had been precise and logical, but no longer.
Byoyomi.
That short thirty seconds tested him.
A time that demanded intuition over accurate calculation.
And intuition always veered toward the familiar move.
Tap.
Pressed for time, Tae-yul hesitated several times before placing a stone.
But the moment his fingertips left the board, his face drained of color.
‘It’s over.’
I, who had been waiting for this moment.
smiled quietly.
A fatal move.

* * *
“…….”
Kang Hyuk, 9-dan, was methodically reviewing the games in the National Strongest Division bracket as an observer.
There was an obligation to prevent any unforeseen complications.
But in truth, this Presidential Cup was important for another reason as well.
The qualifying tournament for the World Amateur Championship.
That ticket hung in the balance of this tournament.
‘Last year, a Chinese player took the title.’
In professional Baduk, Korea held a narrow edge over China.
But the amateur stage was different.
Raw numbers were king.
China, with its vast population of Baduk players, held it firmly in their grip.
Perhaps because of that.
He hoped that this year would bring a Korean amateur who could make a mark on the world stage.
‘Wait…….’
Kang Hyuk’s footsteps stopped.
A familiar name.
A familiar face.
The participant who had defeated his researcher protégé Han Tae-min in the Soodam-bae Gyeonggi Province Strongest Division finals not long ago.
His name was Kim In-ha, wasn’t it.
‘A memorable game, that one.’
Baduk had changed since artificial intelligence arrived.
Skill was no longer measured by style or individual character, but by how closely one could follow the machine’s moves.
He didn’t think that was necessarily wrong.
But.
It was a shame, nonetheless.
Baduk no longer seemed to occupy the realm of art.
On a board where only correct answers remained, everyone played nearly identical moves.
Yet that day.
In-ha’s baduk, glimpsed by chance, was somehow different.
It stirred the memory of something ancient.
Human baduk.
It evoked the elegant play of the human era.
Was that why.
Without knowing it, he found himself wanting to see it again.
Kang Hyuk, Nine-Dan professional, approached quietly and looked down at In-ha’s board.
In that moment, his eyes trembled faintly.
‘This… what is this?’
The arrangement of black stones.
The placement of white stones.
Not a single move’s intention, not a sequence, could be discerned.
This baduk was like…….
random doodling without any plan.

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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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