I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 3

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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 That Pays 003
On the bus ride home.
The scenery beyond the window rushed past in a blur, but nothing registered in my mind.
[Talent ‘Go’ has been activated.]
Watching the blinking system window, my thoughts grew heavier.
I had indeed gained the ability to play Go.
But that was all.
I had been updated to a state where I could play ‘Go’ and nothing else, strictly speaking.
As a result, I had no sense whatsoever of how to actually use this talent.
‘Where am I supposed to use this?’
After much deliberation, I pulled out my smartphone and searched for “how to make money with Go.”
Professional Go player
Go academy instructor
After-school teacher
Internet broadcasting
.
.
It was unexpected. Go-related professions were far broader and more diverse than I’d imagined.
That meant at least the talent wasn’t entirely useless.
‘But I am good at it, right?’
Suddenly that doubt crept in.
Just because I could play Go didn’t mean I was necessarily good at it.
Moreover, Go was a board game where two people competed against each other.
For now, I had no way to confirm where my skill level actually stood.
-This stop is Seokgyo-dong. The next stop is Namwol Community Office.
When the announcement came, I pressed the bell and got off the bus.
I turned the corner at the stop and climbed the hillside road lined with multi-unit houses.
Arriving home, I opened the front door and stepped inside.
…….
The house was empty and silent.
Mother was at her restaurant job, and Father was late coming home from his driving service work.
I changed into comfortable clothes and sat down at the computer.
“The site was called Baduk Samguk-ji, right?”
I logged into the online Go site I’d searched for earlier on the bus.
It was the one with the highest user ratings and a strong reputation for detecting and punishing fraudulent programs.
“Name: Kim In-ha, password set, and the nickname will be Mumyeong.”
Once I finished entering personal information for registration, I moved to the next page.
“It’s asking me to set my Strength Rank?”
The available Strength Ranks at account creation ranged from 18th kyu to Amateur 3-dan.
Lower kyu meant stronger play, and higher dan meant stronger play.
The problem was that not knowing my exact strength made it hard to decide on a baseline.
‘I’ll rule out the kyu ranks.’
After all, this was an A-rank talent obtained by spinning the Diamond Roulette.
If my level were only kyu rank, it would be far too disappointing.
‘Amateur 3-dan seems too strong, and 1-dan seems too weak.’
After weighing my options, I compromised.
“I’ll go with 2-dan.”
I set my initial Strength Rank to Amateur 2-dan and entered the waiting room.
A list of ongoing games and the nicknames of connected users scrolled across the screen.
“There are over 100,000 users online?”
The flags next to the nicknames were varied too. Not just the Korean flag, but Japanese, Chinese, and European flags as well.
It struck me as odd that Go seemed far more popular than I’d expected.
[You have received a game request from Tangsatdanpung.]
[Strength Rank: Amateur 2-dan]
[Record: 153 wins, 129 losses]
I accepted the game without hesitation.
I had joined Baduk Samguk-ji specifically to gauge my actual strength through play.
Besides, the rank matched mine, and the win rate wasn’t bad.
[Equal Game. Handicap: six and a half points. Time limit: 10 minutes. Byo-yomi: 3 periods.]
[Do you agree? Y or N]
Go is a game where black and white take turns placing stones.
Since black moves first, “komi”—additional points—are awarded to compensate for this advantage.
The moment I clicked the agreement button, the monitor filled with a Go board.
The system automatically assigned black and white, and a message appeared announcing the start of the game.
‘Strange. None of this feels awkward.’
The mouse cursor on the board transformed into a crosshair.
“I’m black.”
I clicked the lower-left corner point.
Tap!
A crisp sound effect rippled through my ears as the stone was placed.
It didn’t match a real game, exactly, but it felt remarkably vivid.
White responded at the upper-right corner point. I countered with the lower-right corner.
‘Ah.’
It was an unfamiliar yet wondrous experience.
On a grid of 361 points formed by nineteen-by-nineteen black lines.
Black and white alternated, placing stones against each other.
If I hadn’t known what I was doing, I’d have no idea what was happening.
But the moment the game began, the best moves crystallized in my mind.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
No room for stray thoughts.
Through the Fuseki stage—the fundamental opening framework—black and white stones clashed and interwove.
Black and white swirled chaotically across the board.
‘I can see the next move.’
And the stronger my Move Reading shone, the more I saw.
I was ready to exploit white’s thin weaknesses and seize control of the position.
But then.
“Wait—why there? Did I miscalculate?”
I tilted my head at white’s sudden, unexpected response.
At first glance, it looked ordinary.
Yet it was riddled with flaws.
I drove my attack through like a needle through silk.
Ten moves later, white could make no further play and conceded the stones.
“Did I… did I win?”
The whole thing felt surreal.
I’d dominated from start to finish without a critical moment, achieving a win by forfeit with ease.
“Let me try a few more games.”
I steadied my racing pulse and approached the next match with composure.
With no appetite for dinner, I could focus entirely on Go.
This game too was rapid-play Go.
Intuitive rather than deliberate.
The result was anticlimactic.
I annihilated my opponent’s large group before they could escape.
The subsequent games played out in much the same way.
I overwhelmed the middle game with superior strength—no need even to reach counting.
“This is too easy.”
Seven games played. Seven games won.
A thrill crept up my spine unbidden.
It was starting to feel like I’d set my starting rank too low.
—Ding!
[You have received a game request from PePe.]
[Strength Rank: Amateur 3 Dan]
[Record: 19 Wins, 0 Losses]
“Nineteen and zero?”
An undefeated record at 3 Dan meant strength approaching 4 or even 5 Dan.
I’d been disappointed that 2 Dan opponents weren’t testing me enough—this was perfect timing.
[Proper Game. No komi. Time limit 10 minutes. 3 byo-yomi periods.]
[Do you agree? Y or N]
A Proper Game is played when the opponent is stronger; white forfeits komi and black forfeits the handicap move to balance the match.
I pressed Yes without hesitation.
[Game starting.]
Click.
I placed the opening stone on the upper right star point.
White responded immediately, mirroring the move on the opposite corner.
Even in this early Fuseki stage, an invisible psychological battle was unfolding in scattered skirmishes.
“This is different from every 2-dan I’ve played so far.”
They never concede conspicuous large territories, yet their play is solid. Unwavering.
Though we’re still in the opening, that weight presses across the entire board.
“One wrong move and I’ll be devoured.”
I steadied myself and focused on the game.
The quiet before the storm didn’t last long.
White launched into my territory, and the battle began in earnest.
I seized the momentum and pivoted to the attack.
White refused to yield, matching my pressure move for move, neither side giving an inch.
‘Why is this so thrilling?’
It astonished me how naturally the moves flowed, but even more—the exhilaration of trading blows with an opponent in that razor-thin tension was intoxicating.
Especially this fierce, throat-aimed combat Go. It suited me perfectly.
As we entered the middle game, the fighting intensified.
I pressed the white stones harder, more ruthlessly.
White had come out aggressively to narrow the point deficit; I countered with a strike of my own.
‘This is the decisive moment.’
Rapid Go depends on instinct.
But beneath that instinct lies the foundation of precise Move Reading.
The moves appeared, not easily, but as naturally as breathing.
And not just any moves—the key point that could seize the entire board at once.
Click!
“What about that?”
It wasn’t the kind of move that annihilates a Large Group outright, as in my previous game.
Rather, a subtle move that split White’s position and opened up nearly a ten-point territory advantage.
White’s responses, until now unhesitating, slowed markedly.
Repeated long considerations meant the board had turned decisively against them.
White’s resistance, which had bordered on desperation, finally crumbled.
[PePe has resigned. Win by Forfeit recorded.]
“I won!”
Eight consecutive victories.
The fact that I’d just beaten a 3-dan in the middle of a nineteen-game winning streak sent a surge of elation through me.
I’d need more games to pin down my exact Strength Rank, but at this rate—wasn’t I already beyond simply playing well?
[PePe has requested a rematch.]
“Again?”
Their expression was hardened with frustration, their winning streak shattered.
“Well, one more game won’t hurt… huh?”
I’d reached confidently for the accept button when I stopped.
My phone was ringing. It was my mother.
“Hello? Yes, Mom. I’m home. You got groceries? If you’ll arrive in ten minutes… yes. I’ll come down in time.”
Our house sits on a hillside. The slope is quite steep.
Because of that, with my mother’s knees troubling her, it fell to me to carry the bags up more often than not.
“This guy’s obsession is something else.”
[PePe has requested a rematch.]
[PePe has requested a rematch.]
.
.
While I was speaking with my mother, rematch requests from PePe had piled up relentlessly.
“Sorry—let’s play next time.”
To meet my mother on schedule, I couldn’t afford to be late leaving.
I tapped the decline button and stood up.
I was changing clothes haphazardly and heading for the door when the speaker chimed again with a robotic voice.
[PePe has sent a 1-on-1 message request.]
They were clearly still smarting from the loss.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t be clinging to me with such single-minded persistence.
Hmm.
After a moment’s hesitation, I accepted the chat request.
Shortly after, a one-on-one chat window appeared on the monitor.
PePe: So you won—what’s your rank?
The question came out confrontational, almost hostile.
He’d heard that Go valued courtesy above all else, but apparently not everyone got the memo.
Mumyeong: I have to head out, actually. Let’s play another time.
He kept his tone measured and polite.
There was no point in stooping to rudeness just because his opponent was being uncouth.
But then.
PePe: Hey, you’re using a secondary account, aren’t you?
“Me?”
The question was so absurd it drew an involuntary laugh.
The man had logged in for the first time today and played his first match, and now PePe was accusing him of playing on an alt?
This was groundless suspicion of an almost impressive caliber.
Mumyeong: No, I’m not.
PePe: Never mind—bring out your main account, drop the act, and let’s go again properly.
No matter what he said, PePe refused to believe him.
It wasn’t mere suspicion anymore; the man seemed utterly convinced he was playing on a secondary account.
‘Was my Go really that strong?’
At this point, he couldn’t help but push back.
Mumyeong: Am I playing that well?

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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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