I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 21

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

Too Many Lucrative Talents 021
“Kim, your opponent is last year’s Presidential Cup champion. Currently ranked number one in the Amateur Ranking—Park Jun-su.”
That man from the corridor at the Sports Complex. The one on the phone earlier.
So his name is Park Jun-su.
Now I understood why he carried himself with such rudely unshakeable confidence.
Without pausing to catch his breath, the Branch Manager continued speaking to me.
“He’s number one in the current amateur ranking points. Overwhelmingly so—his lead over second place is more than double.”
“……He must play quite well then.”
“Quite well is an understatement. You saw it yourself, didn’t you? He won the National Strongest Section in the Sudambae Tournament.”
No wonder his face seemed familiar.
I might have glimpsed him that day.
Of course, I don’t pay much attention to others, so I hadn’t retained his face in memory.
The Branch Manager’s tone grew increasingly grave.
“He’s no easy opponent. His skill level must already be professional-grade. He’s come here determined to win at all costs, gathering Professional Registration Points.”
“But……what exactly are Professional Registration Points?”
Park Jun-su had mentioned “Professional Registration Points” during that phone call in the corridor too.
“What? You don’t know what Professional Registration Points are?”
The Branch Manager’s eyes widened as he looked at me.
His gaze seemed to ask whether I truly didn’t know.
Soon enough, he nodded and explained.
“These days, there are two paths to becoming a Professional Go Player. One is the Professional Qualification Tournament—the one we all know. Only the tiniest fraction make it through the competition.”
I already knew about this.
When I first acquired the Go talent, I’d searched for information about how to use it.
The process was so grueling, and given that a Professional Go Player’s peak years spanned only the mid-twenties to mid-thirties at most,
I’d abandoned the idea rather quickly.
“The other system is Professional Registration Points. Points accumulate based on performance in various official amateur tournaments. The system grants professional status through accumulated points.”
“And this tournament counts toward that?”
“Exactly. Tournaments like the Presidential Cup and Sudambae carry significant point weight for their National Strongest Sections. They also grant qualification to compete in the World Amateur Go Championship. That’s what he’s after.”
I nodded quietly.
Professional Registration Points.
I could understand why Park Jun-su was so earnest about this.
There was good reason for the saying that becoming a Professional Go Player was harder than getting into Seoul National University.
He must be trying to leverage both pathways—the Professional Qualification Tournament and the points system.
‘Professional Go Player, huh……’
What if.
And I mean a true what-if.
If I beat Park Jun-su today……
What would become of me.
Could I stop looking higher.
What was certain was that staying here indefinitely might feel
a touch regrettable.
‘……Never mind.’
This isn’t bad either.
In just two months, I’ve accumulated five million won in prize money.
A figure I could never have imagined on a salary.
If I win the Presidential Cup, another five million in prize money gets added.
It’s already become a side pursuit better than my main job.
Isn’t this enough for now.
At least for the moment.
“Kim. The match time’s come. Let’s head to the board.”
I nodded and made my way to the National Strongest Section match table.
When I found my seat, my opponent was already waiting across from me.
Neatly arranged bangs.
A white shirt with crisp, visible ironing marks.
It was Park Jun-su.
“Hello.”
His voice was composed.
His tone carried a hint of courtesy.
“You’re the winner of the Sudambae Gyeonggi Provincial Strongest Section, aren’t you? I won the National Strongest Section that same day. We saw each other on stage. Pleased to make your acquaintance today.”
On the surface, a polite greeting.
But that subtle superiority and spite in his tone wasn’t just imagination on my part.
‘He’s trying to break my spirit?’
The National Strongest Section and the Gyeonggi Provincial Strongest Section.
The fact that he mentioned both divisions at all was a transparent ploy to seize psychological advantage first.
I nodded slightly.
“Yes, let’s play well.”
Park Jun-su’s eyes flickered, barely perceptibly.
Something in his expression suggested my brief answer had stung.
I ignored it and took my seat.
He followed in silence.
Words had been sparse, and in the quiet, tension hung between us like a drawn bowstring.
-We’ll now begin the Round of 64 Main Tournament match.
I opened my Go Goban.
Park Jun-su across from me produced his Go Stones and mixed them with a shuffle.
Swish.
‘I’m Black.’
We faced each other and exchanged the customary bow.
From here on, words weren’t needed.
Stones instead of words.
Moves instead of reasons.
Now came the battle.
Tap!
The first move opened the game in earnest.
Black and White alternated, claiming Hoshi and Komoku positions.
After that, I filled in the larger territories methodically.
Park Jun-su responded with acute Joseki choices, refusing to let the gap widen.
‘A relentless Practical Territory-focused Style.’
Backing that style, like Tae-yul, were AI-based Moves.
Claiming early advantage.
Developing around corner-based practical territory.
Never engaging if the position wasn’t favorable.
Certainly, Go built on AI shows similar patterns in the opening phase.
Yet he was formidable nonetheless.
Tap.
Early midgame.
I, who had been falling behind in the Fuseki, broke the lull.
An unconventional Slanted Day-character Invasion.
The intention was clear.
Cutting.
Breaking White’s shape.
A move designed to force Central Fighting—the very thing practical Go abhors.
As expected, Park Jun-su resisted.
But rather than confront me directly, he played as if attacking my stones while building territory on the side.
‘That won’t work.’
I didn’t allow that flow.
It was already within my calculations.
‘…I’ll break you.’
Amateur Ranking number one.
Against a competitor with the closest skill to a Professional Go Player.
How far my Go could reach.
I intended to test it thoroughly.

* * *
‘What the hell is this guy?’
Park Jun-su swore quietly to himself.
The opening hadn’t gone poorly.
The Joseki progression was clean, and he’d secured decent practical territory.
It was the ideal flow AI recommended.
‘Damn. He’s sticking to me like glue.’
Truth be told, he hadn’t come into this without a measure of contempt.
Gyeonggi Provincial Strongest Section champion?
What does that even prove.
Park Jun-su came from the top ranks of Research Student Group One.
Moreover, he’s the undisputed Amateur Ranking number one.
He lost in the finals of last year’s Professional Qualification Tournament, but that was simply misfortune.
So this time, he’d established a clear lead from the opening.
He hadn’t let his guard down.
The plan was to decide the game by midgame, then prepare for the Round of 32 Main Tournament.
And yet.
Black refuses to break.
With a tenacity that put a roly-poly to shame, it anchors itself at center.
Now it invades my territory, lunging at my throat with the hunger of a beast.
‘What kind of Go is this…….’
This wasn’t merely skillful play.
Sensory command of tempo.
Vital points struck as though piercing straight through to the heart.
This wasn’t the efficiency-obsessed, AI-based Move approach.
This was.
Living Moves.
And the Move Reading was lightning-fast.
Taking in the whole board, it begins to shake him.
At some moment, he realized he was being led around.
‘He’s not from the Research Student program. And yet I’m losing to this person?’
It rankled.
And.
It unsettled him slightly.
To be struggling this badly already in the Round of 64—it was pathetic.
Park Jun-su had a plan.
And he had faith in himself.
Win the Presidential Cup this time, stack up Professional Registration Points.
Then secure additional points at the World Amateur Go Championship.
And next month, the 33rd CL Cup World Go Masters.
If he passed the amateur selection round and made it to the unified preliminary bracket, Professional Registration was guaranteed.
But.
From the very first game, something felt fundamentally wrong.
What made it worse was that he hadn’t dropped his guard.
He was being outplayed by pure skill alone.
Could there be anything more infuriating than that.
Then.
“……!”
In that instant, in his peripheral vision.
Behind In-ha.
A man stood with arms folded, watching the game.
Kang Hyeok, 9 Dan.
‘Why—why is he here?’
Park Jun-su caught his breath.
Ki-seong.
One of the professional Go players who represent the Korean Go world.
Recently, he’d been frequently appearing in various tournaments as an advisor and observer committee member to foster amateur Go.
That’s right.
The same was true at the Sudambae Tournament.
That day.
Kang Hyeok didn’t watch his own game.
Instead, he watched the Gyeonggi Provincial Strongest Section finals from beginning to end.
A match clearly a level below.
At the time, he’d accepted it when told one of his Research Student disciples had made the finals.
But now.
‘Could it be that he came to watch this person’s Go back then too?’
Park Jun-su clenched his teeth.
His grip tightened on the stones in his hand.
A professional Go player I had admired.
He was turning his attention to another amateur—not to me.
That meant this person was playing Go with more potential than I was.
‘I just have to show him. Show him I’m better than this bastard.’
Park Jun-su’s insides twisted.
It wasn’t mere stubbornness—his pride had been wounded.
He pushed harder.
He moved faster.
He bore down as if to prove himself formidable even in direct combat.
But then.
As the moves progressed, something began to slip out of alignment, piece by piece.
A sensation that the entire board was closing in.
One move, then another.
Slow, yet swift.
The flow was unmistakably turning against him.
‘Wait. Just wait.’
Park Jun-su’s eyes trembled faintly.
Until moments ago, he had believed himself ahead.
Then in an instant, everything changed.
No—not an instant.
It had been a trap from the beginning.
Dozens of stones he’d placed until now were wrapping around him like a spiderweb, tighter and tighter.
With no way to escape.
As if designed to suffocate.
‘Ah.’
Park Jun-su went silent.
For just a moment, he felt his breath catch.
The initiative of this game.
It was no longer his.

* * *
Click.
I placed my stone without hesitation.
The momentum had shifted entirely in my favor.
I was certain of it—not by intuition, but by calculation through position assessment.
“…….”
Park Jun-su’s expression remained unchanged.
But the breath I felt beyond the board, the tremor of the stones.
That was his answer instead.
‘The Amateur Ranking number one?’
I was about to surpass him.
An opponent who might prove stronger even than Jang Yu-na, 2-dan, who had all but retired from the professional scene.
I had suppressed him through skill alone.
‘Wait, who is that?’
As my mind eased, my surroundings came into focus.
Kang Hyeok, 9-dan.
The professional who had praised me after the Sudambae Tournament final, saying it was the first time in ages he’d seen ‘Human Go.’
‘He came to watch again, it seems.’
I felt no displeasure.
Though it was merely an amateur match.
Just having his attention felt like recognition.
“I’ve lost.”
The moment those words reached me, the air above the board settled.
“Thank you for the game.”
I bowed in respect.
Park Jun-su returned the courtesy, though formally.
But his eyes were unmistakably different from when we’d first met.
As though half his spirit had fled him.
Without even the thought of clearing the stones, he gripped his head in both hands, dropping his face.
In his trembling fingertips, I seemed to hear the sound of something crumbling inside.
“Kim, sir!”
As I set down the stones and rose, the Branch Manager clenched his fist and thrust it toward me.
As if performing a victory celebration on my behalf.
“See? See? I knew it! I knew you could pull it off, Kim!”
The Branch Manager couldn’t contain his excitement, his words tumbling out.
In that moment his voice grew too loud, and the eyes of those nearby turned toward us.
The Branch Manager seemed to realize his mistake and cleared his throat once.
“Impressive, as always.”
“Thank you.”
I rose quietly from my seat.
Park Jun-su, still reeling from the shock of defeat, remained in his chair.
As I turned to leave—
‘Wait. What?’
I felt the weight of their gazes upon me.
More precisely.
Their attention fixed on me.
The sense of being watched.
Both the participants who had finished their matches and those still playing had tilted slightly in my direction.
‘What is this?’
The Branch Manager beside me spoke quietly.
“Everyone’s paying attention to you now.”
“To me?”
“In the National Strongest Section, everyone knows each other’s faces. There are plenty of Research Students, and quite a few of them are eyeing a path to becoming a professional Go Player in the open ranks.”
The Branch Manager gestured subtly toward Park Jun-su with a sidelong glance.
“But you beat the Amateur Ranking number one. That’s everything.”
He paused, then smiled at me.
“Now you’re a target to contend with. Not by anyone else, but by those aiming for professional status.”
Ah.
Only then did it truly sink in.
Where I stood now.
……Somehow, I had a feeling the matches ahead would become even more interesting.

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