I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 39

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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 039
“……Myeongmyeong?”
Chinese, barely audible.
I lifted my head reflexively and looked over.
Luyuan, six-dan.
He was staring at the Go board with an intensity that could bore holes through it, his expression grave.
‘What did he just say?’
A short, low voice.
The pronunciation had slipped past in a moment.
I’d been too focused to catch it properly.
But still.
There was a dim sense of familiarity in the word.
‘Focus.’
I returned my attention to the board.
The middle game—fierce competition.
The most crucial moment.
A single mistake now would be decisive.
Tap!
I placed my next stone.
Exactly where he dreaded it most.
The exchange he wanted to avoid.
The moment of his hesitation.
I drove my stone right through that vulnerability.
“Mm.”
A brief sound escaped Luyuan’s lips.
Once on the left side.
Once again in the lower right corner.
He responded immediately, but always one move too late.
He pursued thickness.
I took the territory.
When he pushed toward the center,
I sealed the edge.
When he tried to solidify his gains,
I undermined his foundation.
A relentless play that left no room to breathe.
Each time he tried to seize momentum, I pressed him back down.
Controlling even my own breathing, I maintained the crushing pressure.
As a result,
the subtle positional gap that had opened in the opening
had now widened entirely by the middle game.
Tick-tick-tick.
The clock’s hand swept on without pause.
Time flowed, but Luyuan’s hand remained frozen.
Unmoving.
He could only stare at the board as if trying to burn through it.
‘There’s no escape.’
Unfair though it is to Luyuan,
every black move was sealed off.
No better move.
No move to shift the flow.
No move to create a reversal.
No matter how deeply he considered, nothing emerged.
Now it was no longer a matter of reading moves.
It was the moment of accepting reality.
Tap.
After his long deliberation, Luyuan played his next stone.
Chijung.
A desperate move, reaching for my unsettled stones.
‘A desperate measure……stones that won’t be captured.’
His intention was transparent.
Feinting with Chijung.
Invading a corner not yet fully secured.
A calculated gambit to provoke a capture and snatch victory at the last breath.
But.
I wasn’t sloppy enough to stumble into such an obvious trap.
More than that.
I was already one move ahead.
Click.
Soft yet decisive.
A nimble response that neutralized his Chijung.
The capture vanished.
The corner was sealed with no room to maneuver.
My group remained intact.
The momentum flowed on, unshaken.
Clink.
His fingertips froze as they reached into the stone container.
I watched his lower lip press tight.
Luyuan withdrew his hand from the container without strength.
He stared down at the board quietly.
“…….”
His expression was composed.
But his eyes held confusion and resignation.
And an awareness he didn’t want to face—a recognition he refused to accept.
In the end, he.
Could not make the next move.
Instead.
He gathered two stones in his palm.
And set them quietly outside the board’s edge.
Resignation.
‘I’ve won.’
My fist clenched tighter.
That made three victories.
Now only one final match remained before advancing to the main tournament.
Then.
“You…….”
A sharp breath.
A gaze one beat too late.
Mandarin flowed from Luyuan’s lips as he slowly raised his head.
“You…… are Myeongmyeong?”
I.
Couldn’t fully understand those words.
Because I don’t speak Chinese.
But.
One word came through crystal clear.
Myeongmyeong.
What he was asking, what he wanted to know.
I could surmise well enough.
‘He couldn’t not know.’
I’d expected this.
A Pro of Luyuan’s caliber.
Would have no way of not recognizing my playing style after facing it twice.
Now, for my part.
It was time to meet it head-on.
I laughed—brief, light.
And.
Nodded.
“……!”
In that moment.
Luyuan’s expression wavered.
He didn’t fully expose his emotion, but.
His eyes spoke volumes.
Shock.
Wariness.
Suspicion.
And acceptance.
“Your Go… what exactly is it…….”
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
His lips trembled.
Without another word.
He lowered his gaze back to the Go board, studying it heavily.
The marks of defeat.
The sting of losing twice to the same opponent.
A tangle of emotions bore down on him.
“Thank you for the match.”
I quietly gathered the stones and rose from my seat.
The joy of three victories paled
beside the relief of finally revealing myself.
Leaving Luyuan, frozen like stone, behind me, I stepped out of the preliminary rounds hall.
My pace was lighter now.
Creak.
The match room door opened, and someone followed me out.
“Excuse me.”
I turned around instinctively.
Jang Yuna, a 2-dan player.
She wore the referee’s lanyard around her neck.
Dressed neatly in black trousers, she approached me.
“Hello.”
I greeted her naturally.
Truth be told, I’d been aware of her presence since before the match.
Or rather, it would be impossible not to notice.
‘She was staring at me far too openly.’
Jang Yuna had stayed beside me the entire time.
Anyone watching would have thought I was under surveillance.
“It’s good to see you. We’ve met before, haven’t we?”
“Yes. I remember. Instructor Jang.”
She nodded.
She took a breath, then stepped closer with a more determined expression.
“I’m sorry, but… there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Her tone was cautious,
but the certainty beneath it was unmistakable.
“I think you asked me once before.”
“Yes.”
“Are you… Myeongmyeong?”
A question I hadn’t been caught off guard by.
I’d sensed it from the beginning.
That I’d hear this question from this person.
‘She understands more about Myeongmyeong than anyone else.’
My playing style.
My instincts.
My psychology.
The person who comprehends all of it more deeply than anyone.
And that was Jang Yuna.
So all the more reason,
I didn’t want to owe her an apology.
She had helped my Go grow.
She had made it possible for me to face the professionals.
“Yes. I am Myeongmyeong.”
“……!”
Her eyes widened.
She hadn’t expected such a straightforward answer.
I met her eyes.
And spoke quietly.
“My real name is Kim Inha.”
I paused for a beat, then smiled as I continued.
“Just an ordinary office worker.”
“Ah.”
Jang Yuna drew a short breath.
Then.
“Ha, haha… what? It was real?”
The laughter that broke at the end of her sentence was bright, yet somehow tinged with deflation.
She pressed her palm to her forehead.
“I was right. You really were Myeongmyeong, and… really, just an office worker.”
“I’m sorry.”
I smiled awkwardly and bowed my head.
“For not being honest about it.”
Back then, I couldn’t fathom why I’d lacked such confidence.
The real me.
Bank security guard Kim Inha.
Someone who scraped by day after day, reading the room.
For someone like that to reveal the name ‘Myeongmyeong’…

was to lay bare my entire life.
My skill.
My potential.
I’d hesitated, afraid they would be tainted and diminished by the real ‘me.’
So I hid it.
Behind the excuse that it was bothersome.
‘Not anymore.’
It seemed I could afford to be a little bolder now.
My Go.
My talent.
Neither deserved to be underestimated so cheaply.
“It’s not an apology I was after, anyway…”
Jang Yuna shook her head.
“You must have had your reasons. I understand perfectly.”
She smiled gently.
Then she stepped closer and extended her hand.
“Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Jang Yuna, a Pro player. I’m also streaming on the side, and well… right now I’m a fan of yours.”
I quietly clasped her hand.
A gentle squeeze.
Within it lay resentment, gladness, a tangle of complex emotions.
We released our clasped hands, both smiling.
Masks removed.
Two people facing one another in earnest.
Only warmth remained.
“I’d like to talk longer, but I still have another match to referee. I should head back in.”
“Of course. Let’s talk next time, then.”
“Next time?”
She moved closer again.
Close enough to feel her breath.
Bewilderment flickered across my face.
With a soft click, she pulled out her smartphone and held it toward me.
“Give me your number.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well… Myeongmyeong. Or rather, Inha.”
She took a small breath, smiled, and spoke.
But.
There was something almost menacing in that smile.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble I’ve had because you went radio silent?”

“Because of me?”
“Yes. Seriously—I haven’t even checked my messages. There was so much to discuss about scheduling changes and everything. Sigh.”
Jang Yuna exhaled heavily.
The weight of her worry was palpable without a word.
“I’ll explain the details over the phone.”
“All right.”
I nodded awkwardly, managing a smile.
She turned and headed toward the preliminary rounds match room.
Then, all at once.
She stopped and looked back.
“Ah, congratulations on advancing to the fourth round. I wanted to say that first, but I’m late.”
“Thank you.”
A brief greeting, yet profound.
Those few words lingered in my chest for a long time.
After she had completely turned away.
I remained standing there quietly.
Then, without warning.
I murmured to myself.
‘It’s clear.’
The fact that I hadn’t hidden it.
The fact that for the first time, I had revealed my name.
Somehow.
It felt right.
I moved quietly.
Reassuring myself, I took a step forward.
“Let’s go higher. Further up.”

* * *
‘Kim Inha told me he’s Myeongmyeong, but… I suppose it has to stay secret for now, doesn’t it?’
Jang Yuna murmured to herself as she returned to the preliminary rounds match room.
It wasn’t officially announced.
And since she hadn’t received permission.
She couldn’t speak of it just yet.
‘Ugh, I want to tell someone. It would be huge.’
Myeongmyeong, the master of Three-Kingdom Go.
Actually an amateur player.
That alone was guaranteed content for YouTube views and buzz.
‘Maybe next time I’ll slip it out… wait, what?’
The preliminary rounds match room.
Silent.
Utterly hushed.
The occasional sound of Go stones being placed.
The air itself seemed tense, breath held in restraint.
In the very center of the match room.
Five or six people had gathered around the innermost table.
A referee.
Players who had passed the preliminary rounds.
Players who had not.
Their eyes were fixed on a single match.
Byeon Ubin, 5-dan.
Tap.
He reached out and placed a stone.
“Mm.”
Someone let out a brief gasp.
An involuntary exclamation.
Another opened his mouth in awe.
Another swallowed a quiet cough.
Everyone gathered here was a professional.
Among them were players of considerable rank.
The depth of a single move.
The direction of reading the stones.
The ripple that single move—played just now—would set in motion.
Those who could sense it immediately.
So everyone understood.
That move just made.
Among more than hundreds of matches.
It was one of the rarest Myosu plays.
Rescuing the dead group.
Breaking through the opponent’s thickness.
Pivoting the very axis that determined the board’s position.
A stroke of transformation.
‘I can’t believe I actually saw that move…….’
‘Truly a divine play.’
‘Thank goodness Byeon Ubin and I didn’t meet in the preliminaries.’
‘Another opponent I need to be wary of now.’
Transcending nationality.
It was the shared assessment of all the Pro players watching.
And.
Among them was Jang Yuna, who had stepped away briefly and now returned.
‘That’s… remarkable.’
She rubbed away the goosebumps rising on her forearms.
Setting process aside.
This move, played just now.
Was the kind any Pro would want to play at least once.
A Myosu that pierced and penetrated the board itself.
Jang Yuna glanced sideways at her opponent’s face.
Kobayashi, 9-dan from Japan.
With extensive international tournament experience.
A player known for his seasoned reading of moves.
Yet now.
‘It’s over.’
His expression had crumbled.
His eyes wavered.
He could no longer keep pace with the ramifications of that move.
Go is played with the heart.
If that heart breaks, then this board—in all practical terms—is already decided.
Jang Yuna slowly turned her gaze away, looking toward the bracket posted on the observation stand.
Integrated preliminaries, Group D.
Fourth round.
Byeon Ubin vs. Kim Inha.
The moment she confirmed that name.
Jang Yuna’s eyes flickered slightly.
‘Ah, they’re facing off.’
The rising star who would carry Korean Go forward.
And.
A maverick from an amateur background.
Naturally, the former should win—that was the proper order of things.
Yet she could not hastily predict the outcome.
Momentum and polish.
Coldness and composure.
Two completely different currents were about to collide head-on.
‘……I don’t think Inha will lose.’
She was Myeongmyeong.
No—she did have faith in Inha, certainly.
And yet.
If the opponent.
Were Byeon Ubin, riding a recent surge to his peak……then matters would be different.
Jang Yuna bit her lip gently.
‘……You’ll be all right, won’t you, Inha?’
A top-tier Go player.
Byeon Ubin was already.
Close to that tier.
Perhaps within two years, or even one.
He might become a Go player who could aim for the world stage.
No—he certainly would.
The magnitude of his talent.
His concentration at critical moments.
His sense of reading the board and his decisiveness as well.
All of those things were already approaching completion.
And because of that.
The anxiety that had taken root in her heart grew steadily larger.
Bit by bit.
Very gradually.
Like a rolling snowball.
Quietly.
Yet relentlessly, it swelled.

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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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