I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 33

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

Too Much Profitable Talent | Episode 33
“Kim, be honest with me. Go is your real job, and the bank security work is just a side gig, right?”
“Well…”
I smiled evasively and deflected the question.
Yeon-hui seemed satisfied enough, because she didn’t press the article any further.
I turned my head slowly to look at Park and Ha.
And then.
Quietly, without a word, I smiled.
That was all.
Both of them opened their mouths to speak, then closed them again.
I bowed my head slightly.
“If there’s nothing else, I should be getting back to work.”
I offered a polite goodbye and turned to leave.
No one tried to stop me.
A subtle gaze on the back of my head.
And the air had shifted.
‘…The way they look at me has changed.’
It didn’t bother me.
Someone might find me inconvenient because of this.
But it didn’t matter.
We’d never really respected each other anyway.
I positioned myself in front of the number dispenser as I prepared for the day’s transactions.
Right then.
Yeon-hui, whose eyes met mine, gave me a subtle wink.
‘That troublemaker.’
I couldn’t help but smile.
A strangely refreshing feeling.
Today.
I felt like I could work well.

* * *
Incheon.
The Giseong Research Institute was farther away than I’d expected.
The complete opposite direction from our house on the outskirts of Gyeonggi Province.
The subway lines weren’t convenient either.
Taking the bus meant transferring four times.
Even checking the route on my smartphone the entire way felt exhausting.
‘Man, I really wish I had a car.’
The physical distance was one thing, but with such poor transit options.
The research institute I had to visit every week already felt draining.
Which is why.
A promotional poster for the Biryong Tournament released a few days ago came to mind.
The grand prize: a compact car.
The most popular domestic brand model.
‘…I have to win for sure.’
One more reason had emerged to secure first place.
To be honest, though.
I didn’t think I’d lose.
—Next stop…
I pressed the bell and got off the bus.
After consulting my smartphone and walking for some time, I arrived in front of the building where the Giseong Research Institute was located.
A rather dilapidated commercial building.
I climbed the stairs, knocked carefully, and opened the door.
“Inha!”
Yu Jeuha was the first to greet me.
Her long natural hair tied back neatly, dressed in comfortable pants.
Her expression was noticeably brighter than before.
“Hey there.”
“You arrived earlier than expected.”
I handed over the box of drinks with a smile.
“That’s why I came empty-handed.”
“Oh, you didn’t need to buy anything like this… but I’ll gratefully accept.”
I pressed the beverage into Yu Jeuha’s hands, and my gaze drifted naturally across the interior of the study room.
It was unexpected.
I’d imagined a rigid, heavy atmosphere.
But the space was far more orderly and clean than I’d expected.
Several professionals were playing Go in silence.
In one corner, a monitor screen glowed faintly, displaying a game review in progress.
“Welcome.”
A familiar face emerged from a partitioned room.
Kang Hyeok, the instructor who had founded the Giseong Research Institute.
I bowed respectfully.
“I’m Kim Inha. Thank you for having me.”
He smiled slightly and extended his hand.
“The pleasure is mine. I’ve been a fan of your Go for quite some time.”
“…Sorry?”
Kang Hyeok merely smiled in response.
Now that I thought about it.
He’d been watching and encouraging me since the amateur tournament days.
That connection had led to Yu Jeuha and, eventually, my joining this research institute.
‘…He’s just like a mentor.’
Not in high school.
Not in college.
I’d never had a deep connection with a teacher or professor.
I wasn’t a remarkable student, after all.
Perhaps because of that.
Kang Hyeok’s support felt unfamiliar yet all the more reassuring.
Then another figure approached from the side.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Park Jinwoo, serving as an instructing instructor at the Giseong Research Institute.”
Somewhere in his late thirties.
He had a gentle expression and spoke with precise clarity.
Yet his overall manner was warm and kind.
He seemed like the type to lead the research institute with stability.
“I’m Kim Inha. Please, feel free to speak casually.”
As I lowered my head, Park Jinwoo smiled and nodded.
“Then I’ll call you Inha. Our research institute has a fairly relaxed atmosphere, so you’ll find it easy to adapt.”
Park Jinwoo naturally walked beside me as he showed me around the interior of the study room.
“This is mainly where we do game reviews. Feel free to use the monitors and DeepStone. Over there is the free play area. The kitchen and lounge are further back.”
The study room was compact yet immaculate, bearing traces of Go scattered throughout its corners.
Somehow, it didn’t feel quite real.
A research institute.
A study room.
The very fact that I would play Go, study, and exchange knowledge in this place.
It made me feel as though I’d truly drawn close to becoming a professional.
“So you’re aiming for Promotion Points, then?”
“Yes, for now.”
“Even if you’re unmatched in amateur play, to earn Promotion Points you need to win against professionals. So you’ll need to plan carefully.”
“Plan?”
“Right. It won’t be easy, but ideally you’d place in the semifinals of the Integrated Preliminaries to secure 40 Promotion Points. Then at the World Amateur Championship…”
Park Jinwoo spoke like a consultant.
His tone was gentle, yet each word flowed with clarity.
Everything was calculated, and the step-by-step approach was precise.
Yet.
‘…Wouldn’t it all work out if I just made the Main Tournament?’
That question flickered across my mind.
But I didn’t voice it.
After all, his words came from consideration and concern for me.
Beside us.
Kang Hyeok merely smiled silently.
Yu Jeuha seemed to have something to say—her lips moved slightly—but she couldn’t find her timing and hesitated.
“You’re right to focus on the Integrated Preliminaries. And today’s the day the bracket drops anyway.”
As Park Jinwoo finished speaking,
someone in the corner of the dojang shouted from searching on their smartphone.
“Hey? The bracket’s up!”
The air in the dojang shifted in an instant.
Chairs scraped back.
Games paused mid-play.
Eyes and footsteps converged from all directions.
Park Jinwoo glanced at me and smiled.
“Let’s go check it out.”
I nodded and moved toward the large monitor.
The bracket was too intricate to take in at a glance.
‘So this is the world championship preliminaries.’
Professional and amateur players from around the globe — some four hundred of them.
Beyond Korea, China, Japan, and Taiwan,
participants came from ten countries total, I’d heard — France, Vietnam, and others.
The divisions alone split into General, Senior, World, and Women’s categories, with eighteen spots advancing to the main tournament.
“Ugh, of all people… my first opponent is Yang Hongjun.”
“God. What kind of bracket is this?”
“Hyung, mine’s worse. First round against Zhang Haowei, and if I’m lucky enough to win, it’s Rui, 9-dan.”
Several players from the Giseong Research Institute groaned.
In a tournament format, luck with pairings had enormous bearing on results.
Park Jinwoo folded his arms and murmured.
“The women’s division is going to be especially fierce this year. Thirty-four to one odds.”
“That’s fine. I’m getting my confidence back.”
Yu Jeuha clenched her fists and smiled.
Her gaze turned toward me.
It was a look that seemed to say it was thanks to me.
Before I could say anything, Yu Jeuha stepped closer.
“Who’s your first opponent?”
“Haven’t checked yet. Too many names on this thing.”
“Really? Let me look for you.”
Yu Jeuha leaned in close to the monitor and began scanning the screen with her finger.
Then her eyes widened.
“Here! First round is Kim Donggyu, and second round is probably Lin Shui, 8-dan… Third round, hmm, looks like it could be Lu Yuan, 6-dan.”
“Lu Yuan?”
A familiar name surfaced.
One of the Chinese players I’d faced as “Unknown” in Jang Yuna’s stream.
To think we’d meet again in the Integrated Preliminaries.
‘The world’s small.’
Even so,
I wasn’t particularly nervous.
I’d beaten him once before.
It just felt like one of those things that happens.
“He’s one of the rising stars in China. Don’t underestimate him.”
“Got it. I’ll be careful.”
“And…”
Yu Jeuha trailed off as another name caught her eye.
Her expression tightened slightly.
“…Byeon Ubin’s here too. Do you remember? We ran into him once at a Go café before.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember.”
“I don’t say this to be mean, but… that guy’s really strong.”
Byeon Ubin, 5-dan.
It was a chance encounter,
but that day his gaze and demeanor toward me weren’t warm.
Park Jinwoo added a comment.
“Byeon’s been playing well lately. Won a title this year too. He’s being called a dark horse for this tournament.”
I nodded.
There was nothing particularly special about how I felt.
No burden, no intimidation.
Just a sense that this was how things were.
“You don’t need to lose heart. Your immediate goal is Professional Promotion, and if you can just make it to the fourth round, you’ll be a strong candidate for promotion this year.”
Park Jinwoo set down his pen after finishing, his gaze drifting to the tournament bracket on the monitor as he rubbed his chin.
“Now that I think about it, your first-round opponent is Donggyu, right? Ah.”
As if something had clicked, Park’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Myeonghwan.”
“Yes?”
The man who had been studying the bracket with a serious expression looked up.
Black-framed glasses.
A sharp, angular jaw.
There was something stubborn about him, an impression of quiet conviction.
Park made the introduction.
“This is Shin Myeonghwan, a 7-dan professional. He’s been active with our institute for quite some time. And this is Kim Inha, ranked second among amateur players, who joined us today on Yu Jeuha’s recommendation.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Kim Inha.”
“I’m Shin Myeonghwan.”
They exchanged a light handshake.
“Since your first-round opponent is Donggyu, your playing styles are pretty similar, aren’t they? You and Myeonghwan?”
“Well, yes. To some degree, anyway.”
“If you have the time, would you like to play a game with Inha? It’s his first day at the institute, and I think it would be good practice before he faces Donggyu.”
Shin Myeonghwan glanced at me sidelong.
Not exactly an enthusiastic look.
But he didn’t refuse.
“Sure. Should we move over there?”
“Yes.”
I gave a brief answer and followed him to another table.
“I’d like to watch. I enjoy observing from the side.”
Yu Jeuha followed, employing her characteristic speech pattern of omitting subjects.
A Go board sat in the far corner of the institute.
We took our seats across from each other.
As Shin Myeonghwan set up the stone containers, he asked carefully.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”
“Oh, I’m twenty-nine.”
“Then you’re a year older than me. I’m twenty-eight, so please feel free to speak casually.”
I shook my head.
“No. I’ll drop the formal speech once I’m promoted to professional.”
“Professional Promotion? That’s not really such an important thing.”
“Pardon?”
His reply came back heavier and sharper than I’d expected.
“Anyone who’s meant to reach professional status will get there somehow. You will too, even though it took me a while.”
Shin Myeonghwan paused for a moment, meeting my eyes.
“The real problem comes after that.”
He smiled bitterly.
“It’s harder to hold your ground when younger players keep coming up and eating away at your position. That kind of thing… it strips away your dignity.”
It wasn’t mere advice.
It was a warning drawn from lived experience—a philosophy of survival grounded in harsh reality.
That Professional Promotion wasn’t the finish line.
That after turning pro, an even more brutal time awaited.
He was saying that the mental fortitude to endure—even as you served as a stepping stone for others—mattered far more.
“Shall we begin?”
“Yes. I look forward to playing.”
We exchanged bows and covered the stones.
Whoosh.
‘Black.’
I straightened my posture and picked up a stone.
First move: Small Corner Opening.
Each stone he played fell with weight, reflecting a style oriented toward stability.
The playing style of someone who centered on territory and profit.
Especially in the early opening, he would likely demonstrate considerable strength.
‘I would have been overwhelmed before…’
But not anymore.
After learning the latest Joseki from the AI, my Opening has become much more solid as well.
But.
Shin Myeonghwan was no easy opponent.
His pace wasn’t rushed.
His moves flowed without hesitation.
Neither forcing nor retreating.
He maintained that subtle balance all the way through.
‘His fundamentals are rock solid.’
I began deliberately seeking out and marking what I suspected to be Blue Spots in his play.
Like a precise artificial intelligence.
Yet I didn’t lose myself entirely in playing like the AI.
Sometimes I would play a move later than it would suggest.
Sometimes I’d shift to a slightly more distant side of the board, adding a touch of restraint.
A rhythm of acceleration and deceleration born from human intuition, not machine calculation.
Caught in that flow, Shin Myeonghwan’s game began to falter, bit by bit.
Tap!
Midgame.
Where he should have held back and retreated, Shin Myeonghwan pushed forward with an aggressive cut.
I had been waiting for that exact moment.
I extended my black stone unhesitatingly toward the Center.
‘He still hasn’t noticed yet.’
The corner shape he had handled passively in the opening.
I had continued calculating how to leverage that shape in the Center battle.
‘Now is the time.’
A Diagonal Wedging with an attachment on the second line.
After inducing his response.
When White, forced to protect territory, resisted.
I struck again with a Cut.
“Mmm.”
Shin Myeonghwan exhaled softly.
Only then did he grasp it.
How the exchange I had made in the corner.
was now reshaping this entire battle in the Center.
‘Too late.’
But the momentum had already shifted to my favor.
And.
For someone with a Territory-focused playing style, reclaiming the initiative once surrendered is far harder than it seems.
In the end.
He never seized control even once.
To the very last, he was only chased.
What he felt in that process, I cannot know.
His head bowed.
His face, pressed against his palm in silent gesture.
was slick with cold sweat.
and had gone ashen.
“……I’ve lost.”
He abandoned even the territory count and quietly set down his stones.
“Thank you for the game.”
I bowed in acknowledgment.
Shin Myeonghwan gazed at me quietly.
His eyes held disbelief.
After a moment of silence, he muttered in a self-mocking voice.
“……So you’re that kind of person too. Clawing your way up from below to consume those above you.”

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