I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 25

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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 — Episode 025
“I thought about playing a Revenge Match, but… I’m not entirely confident. What if I lose?”
She was the one who had always demolished viewers with an aggressive, no-holds-barred style.
But today felt different.
Jang Yu-na’s characteristic confidence had vanished without a trace.
Her chastened demeanor only heated up the chat even more.
“And so, we have with us today a special guest we’ve invited with great difficulty. This is An Seong-hyun, an instructor. Please give him a warm welcome!”
Jang Yu-na clapped her hands together.
In that instant, the screen split, and a composed figure in his late thirties appeared.
Hair cut short and neat.
Eyes calm and steady.
Even sitting silently before the camera, his presence was unmistakable.
‘So this is him.’
An active professional Go player.
-Hello, viewers. I’m professional An Seong-hyun. I look forward to playing a good match with you today.
A plain, straightforward greeting.
Yet the quiet confidence beneath those words was something anyone could feel.
Jang Yu-na pulled the microphone closer.
“An Seong-hyun has a runner-up finish at the Baekdudsan Cup and once climbed to 56th in the domestic rankings. Today, I believe he’ll show us a fiery Revenge Match in my stead.”
I watched the screen and slowly opened and closed my fists.
A pleasant tension flowed through my fingertips.
I entered the Match Hall after receiving Jang Yu-na’s invitation.
Moments later, a match request notification appeared.
[You have received a match request from An.Seong.Hyun_P7.]
P7.
Short for Professional 7-dan.
It was a tag that only accounts verified as professional on the Samgukji Go Site could bear.
‘So it’s real.’
I moved the mouse and clicked accept.
[Handicap Game. 6.5 Point Compensation. Time Limit: 20 minutes. Byoyomi: 3 periods.]
The mouse cursor on the Go board transformed into a finger pointer.
Click.
The first move was a Hoshi.
An Seong-hyun’s response was also a Hoshi in the lower right.
The early game unfolded without incident.
Moves following Standard Patterns, exploring variations.
But within that pattern, I broke my own path.
One stone.
Then another.
I didn’t complete the Standard Patterns.
I left the shape incomplete, preserving taste and possibility.
And this was my Setup Move.
The round of 64 in the main bracket against Park Jun-su at the Presidential Cup.
An early-game Opening shape I’d wished I could have played then.
I was following it now.
‘Let me try this once.’
A move rarely played in the opening.
The 2nd Line.
Commonly said: the 3rd Line for territory, the 4th Line for influence.
It’s extremely rare to play on the 2nd Line when there are many large spaces in the opening.
But I rode the two black stones in the corner and played the 2nd Line Garlic Formation.
Click!
The stone was placed.
At first glance, it looked unremarkable.
Just an Irregular Joseki meant to form a Tiger’s Mouth shape and secure proper Eye Shape.
That’s all it would seem.
But if you widen your perspective across the entire board, things change.
That single stone.
Only those who could see how far it connected would understand.
‘How will he respond?’
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
This wasn’t merely a move.
A probe—a setup move that tested the opponent’s reaction.
A Professional 7-dan couldn’t help but feel the depth of this placement.
‘Let’s see how they respond…….’
Would they hesitate?
Or would they brush it aside without concern?
Either way, it didn’t matter.
No matter how they responded, they couldn’t avoid an early disadvantage.
White’s hand, which had been placing stones without hesitation moments before, now stilled.
A brief silence.
Then a stone was placed.
Click.
‘Caught.’
The instant I saw it.
I smiled inwardly.
* * *
“……That’s the 2nd Line Garlic Formation.”
Jang Yu-na, a 2-dan player, chose her words carefully.
A formation that occasionally appeared in 3-3 Joseki.
It was a shape that AI had recently attempted, and one that professionals now deployed frequently in actual games.
But seeing the 2nd Line Garlic Formation placed at this timing, in this position—that was unprecedented.
-Why place it there?
-The shape seems plausible though
-Is this a studied move?
-Yu-na, could you explain?
-Is this a commentary broadcast? lol lol lol
The chat erupted instantly.
The shape itself wasn’t aesthetically wrong.
But the intention behind it remained unclear.
‘This won’t do. I can’t keep up with the line reading.’
Jang Yu-na quietly moved her hand to the auxiliary monitor.
She launched DeepStone, the artificial intelligence.
Managing the broadcast, reading chat, providing commentary, offering analysis—all at once.
Honestly, it was overwhelming.
She displayed the AI’s recommended sequence on the monitor hidden from the broadcast view.
Immediately, a game tree showing roughly fifteen moves stemming from the Garlic Formation appeared.
The moment she verified it.
Jang Yu-na’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“Ah…….”
A soft gasp escaped her.
The 2nd Line Garlic Formation.
The flow of the lower-right corner that lurked behind that shape.
She finally grasped the intention of the move.
“It’s a pincer! The moment White slips downward, the lower-right corner gets caught. It’s a perfect setup move!”
An excited Jang Yu-na raised her voice.
A pincer.
A move that relentlessly drove the opponent’s stones in one direction toward death.
Viewers, understanding the intention only now, gasped in admiration.
-This is underhanded from the opening
-ㄷㄷ The line reading is insane?
-Is Mumyeong really an amateur?
-This is the kind of move professionals research before playing
-Wow, the pincer is perfectly set.
Click.
An Seong-hyun, a Professional 7-dan, placed a stone.
“Master noticed it too. But……retreating here expanded his early disadvantage.”
Jang Yu-na continued her commentary with DeepStone’s assistance.
Black pressed forward, banking on the early advantage they’d already secured.
As the Opening gave way to the Early-Middle Game, Black began in earnest to disrupt An Seong-hyun’s rhythm.
Especially.
The way Mumyeong used the board broadly.
Organic moves, interlocking like gears.
“Every move Mumyeong makes has a reason behind it. Just looking at this variation alone…… if you deviate here, you’ll walk straight into Black’s Wedging trap.”
Even as she delivered her commentary, Jang Yu-na could not stop marveling silently.
‘She’s reading through every variation in this position and then placing stones accordingly?’
It was different from when they’d played last time.
Each stone was sharper, more incisive.
There was a seasoned precision to it now.
Against a professional player, she was holding her own—no, actually steering the game with a slight edge.
‘An’s expression isn’t good.’
The feeling of being outplayed by an amateur.
For a professional, that had to be deeply humiliating.
Jang Yu-na was more of a Go broadcast personality than a true professional player.
But An Seong-hyun was an active professional.
“All of Mumyeong’s moves are connected. Each one gains an advantage if the opponent misses the point.”
-Is Yu-na really not AI?
-Doesn’t seem like it. The sensibility feels too human.
-Are they actually a professional?
-Who even are they?
-No way that’s an amateur, no matter how you look at it
The viewers were beginning to sense it too.
A solidity that didn’t waver despite the game reaching the midgame.
Position evaluation that seemed almost like artificial intelligence.
Precise responses followed by a seamless transition into the endgame.
There was nothing to fault.
It was as if watching perfected Go.
“In over ten years of professional Go, I’ve never seen an amateur play like this.”
Jang Yu-na was shaken.
It had been just a content booking.
But.
The deeper she analyzed Mumyeong’s Go, the more her words failed her.
“Who exactly is this person?”
Shock and dread.
Yet.
More panicked than Jang Yu-na was.
An Seong-hyun, the one actually in the match.
‘Where does this sensitivity come from……’
Moves read with the precision of artificial intelligence.
Yet flowing with a human sense of tempo and rhythm.
This wasn’t.
‘Amateur Go.’
The fact that he’d accepted a fee to play.
The humiliation of being outplayed by someone claimed to be amateur.
Both had already been erased from his mind.
Among professionals, the very best players.
That vertiginous sensation he’d felt only when playing against them.
‘Two stones.’
The gap he couldn’t close when facing the world’s elite.
That two-stone difference.
That despair which separated the world’s summit from himself—it crushed him again.
“Ah, that move there…… you’re wavering now, An.”
Jang Yu-na’s commentary continued with sympathy.
A move where the AI calculated the win rate at only 31.7 percent.
A position of despair.
-He’s playing recklessly
-How is he even breathing? He’s getting crushed.
-Is Mumyeong an AI? Don’t those AI companies sometimes test performance by having people pose as users?
-What AI would chat on broadcast like that lol
With each stone placed on the board.
The position had reached a point of no return.
“Black is… substantially ahead.”
The AI’s position evaluation was precise.
At the professional level, there was almost no margin for error unless a mistake occurred.
An Seong-hyun bit his lip hard, visible beyond the camera.
He seemed to feel that further play would be meaningless.
[The match has concluded.]
[Black Wins by Resignation]
In that instant, the chat exploded.
-Did he really win?
-Master An……
-This can’t be explained unless he’s a pro
-Wait, why would a pro play around with an amateur? lol
-Who is this? Oh Dong-geun 9-dan? Or Park Chul-woo 9-dan?
“That was a splendid match. Thank you for the effort today.”
Jang Yu-na, broadcasting simultaneously as a 2-dan, forced herself to speak with an expression of indifference while gauging An Seong-hyun’s mood beyond the camera.
The dignity of an active professional.
Everything felt delicate in light of the fact that she had lost to an amateur.
-Thank you for your hard work.
“Then I hope to see you next time……”
It was the moment Jang Yu-na was hurrying to wrap up her closing remarks.
-Wait a moment.
An Seong-hyun cut in from beyond the camera.
-If the opportunity arises next time, I’d like to play a Revenge Match. As the challenger.
The challenger.
A humble choice of words.
Yet a fierce competitive spirit emanated from within them.
And that desire to play again—it was genuine.
Then.
Mumyeong’s message appeared in the chat.
Mumyeong : Thank you. I will be waiting.
A calm greeting.
But.
At that final phrase—I will be waiting—An Seong-hyun’s brow twitched.
On the surface it seemed courteous.
Yet beneath it lay an unshakeable confidence that had never wavered.
A sense that he could play again at any time and win once more.
At the same time, the chat erupted anew.
-Wow, saying he’ll wait anytime lol
-Is this how you respond to a pro?
-Where’s the humility?
-Come on then
-Master An, challenge again and crush him.
Jang Yu-na, watching the chat’s reaction, pressed down hard on the corners of her mouth that kept twitching upward.
‘This is huge!’
Mumyeong’s victory was shocking enough.
An Seong-hyun requesting a Revenge Match.
And Mumyeong’s reply, accepting it from a victor’s vantage point!
All of it was exactly the explosive content she had been hoping for.
“Thank you for your hard work, Master An. See you next time.”
-I’ll be rooting for your broadcast.
With that closing greeting, An Seong-hyun’s camera went dark.
Jang Yu-na drew in a deep breath.
“Mumyeong.”
She paused, then asked quietly.
“You’re really not a professional?”
A soft question.
The chat fell silent in that moment.
The truth everyone wanted to know.
A brief pause hung in the air.
Mumyeong’s brief message appeared in the chat.
Mumyeong : Yes, I’m just an ordinary office worker.
“Pardon?”
Jang Yu-na opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She floundered, her lips moving soundlessly.
The same answer as before.
And yet, no one in the studio—not even she—believed a word of it.
The mood shifted, deflating like a punctured balloon.
Jang Yu-na forced a smile and pressed on.
“Ah… is that your concept, then?”
-KKKKKKKK
-How is he not a high school girl?
-He’s gonna regret this later lol
-Doesn’t he need to retire as a pro?
-I’m dying to know who you really are.
Everyone knew he was a pro.
The studio played along anyway.
She covered her mouth with her hand, but a laugh escaped anyway.
“Mumyeong, that was truly an incredible game today. I’m looking forward to a Revenge Match next time… um, um! Everyone, just a moment.”
Jang Yu-na’s eyes snapped to the secondary monitor.
A message from PD Heo outside the studio.
She read it, drew a sharp breath, and nodded slowly, as if confirming something.
“Everyone, try not to be too shocked.”
She paused for effect.
Choosing her words carefully, she began again.
“Just now, after watching that game, we received a message from a pro with the Chinese Go Association.”
Her shoulders rose and fell with barely contained excitement.
She tried to suppress her smile, but it was no use.
“…Sun Yao has asked our side to arrange a match between her and Mumyeong!”
Sun Yao, 6-dan.
Currently ranked 92nd in the Chinese Go Association.
A rising Chinese prospect who, since entering the pro ranks last year, has been climbing the rankings at a remarkable pace.
And this Chinese pro had singled out the amateur Mumyeong as an opponent.
-Yu-na, this isn’t fake, right?
-Sun Yao who crushed Lee In-han at the Chunlan Cup?
-Wait, is this for real lol
-A Chinese pro against some amateur?
-Chinese Go is strong. We will set things right.
The chat exploded.
And then.
A single short, composed line appeared.
Mumyeong : Thank you. I look forward to it.
Mumyeong did not shy away from the challenge.
No.
He was relishing it.

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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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