I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 40

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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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Too Many Profitable Talents 040
“Son!”
A familiar, welcoming voice greeted me.
The moment I finished the third match of the Unified Preliminaries.
The place I’d come to was
my mother’s shop, Original Inha Bunsik.
It was my first visit since its official opening.
Mother set down the spatula she’d been using to stir the tteokbokki and came toward me.
“How did you get here?”
“You wouldn’t let me come. So I snuck over.”
I smiled softly.
“Well, I didn’t want you overexerting yourself…… But Inha, you didn’t actually win, did you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my goodness, how wonderful! My son!”
Mother threw her arms around me, delighted like a child.
“Have you eaten? Did you eat anything?”
“Yes, I did. Right after the match.”
“Eat more anyway. My son’s here—I should give you something.”
Mother hurried back into the kitchen.
The familiar sound of the spatula scraping.
The hiss of hot oil from the fryer.
My mouth watered at the appetizing aromas.
In that moment,
I glanced around the shop.
Unlike the disorder of the grand opening,
the atmosphere had grown tidy.
And more than anything,
the laughter of high school girls chatting and joking.
Mother rinsing tteokbokki in water to serve to a child.
A man standing outside eating odeng.
‘Thank goodness there are some customers.’
My worries eased a little.
I hadn’t expected grand success,
but at this small, newly opened shop,
I’d hoped Mother would find fulfillment even amid the hardship.
A moment later,
steaming tteokbokki, odeng, and twigim,
followed by a generous serving of Mother’s kimbap, were placed before me.
“Is this really one serving?”
“Of course. It’s one serving that looks like three. Eat well. Go requires concentration—you’ll get hungry quickly.”
“Yes, I’ll finish it all.”
I picked up a chopstick of tteokbokki and brought it to my mouth.
Spicy, sweet, and warm.
The kimbap, tasted for the first time in a while, was delicious too.
“Oh, that’s right. I tried black bean sauce tteokbokki a few days ago.”
“Black bean sauce tteokbokki? There’s such a thing?”
Mother tilted her head curiously.
“Yes. It was better than expected. The savory, salty flavor paired really well with the black bean paste base.”
“Is that so? I’d like to try it sometime.”
“I’ll bring some next time. We can eat it together.”
While I exchanged brief bits of conversation with Mother, now that she had a moment to spare,
another customer came in.
“Welcome. Take your time and enjoy.”
I took a sip of water and stood up.
“I’ve finished eating. I have another match to prepare for tomorrow, so I should head out.”
“All right then. Take your time on the way. I’ll see you at home.”
After saying goodbye to Mother,
I opened the shop door and stepped out into the alley.
On the path toward the subway station,
I passed in front of the building where the old Inha Bunsik used to be.
‘No customers.’
Despite the pristine signage and interior, the shop felt hollow.
Beyond the glass window, the register counter came into view.
Someone was yawning in front of it.
A familiar face.
The Building Owner’s daughter-in-law.
The one who’d boasted about her cooking skills.
She’d inherited our Original Inha Bunsik wholesale, as if swallowing it whole, and now she stood guard over that place.
‘I don’t want anything to do with her.’
I turned away and wandered through the alley.
Main Street.
It was some distance from the station, but foot traffic was decent.
As I passed through it.
A vacant storefront appeared.
Where a franchise bakery used to be.
A man in a suit emerged from that shop.
And a middle-aged woman I recognized followed him out.
“The Building Owner?”
I murmured softly.
Even from a distance, there was no mistaking her.
Bubbly permed hair, intensely styled.
Gold jewelry draped across her entire frame, designer bags in hand.
The two stood on the Main Street, spoke briefly, then exchanged farewells.
The man in the dark suit climbed into a car parked at the curb.
The door closed quietly.
The engine started at once.
The vehicle rolled slowly past me.
In that instant.
A printed message on the car’s side door caught my eye in sharp relief.
“……Tteokmi-dang?”
—Devoting one’s soul to tteokbokki.
A clean logo.
The brand slogan printed in red.
My chest tightened slightly.
That name.
Where had I seen it before.
YouTube, advertisements, street signs…….
A name I’d brushed past countless times before.
Something felt unsettling about it.
A vacant storefront on Main Street.
A tteokbokki franchise.
And.
The Building Owner’s smile that made no effort to hide her malice.
All of it.
Interlocking like a single thread of a puzzle.
Overlapped with an eerie, unnatural precision.
‘……Surely not, right?’
My footsteps toward the station naturally began to slow.
I kept finding myself glancing backward.
That vehicle, receding into the distance behind me, refused to leave my mind.
Tteokmi-dang.
A franchise name I could have easily passed by without a thought.
Three letters that…….
For some reason.
Kept.
Lodging uncomfortably in the center of my chest.

* * *
The landscape flowing past the subway window.
The rush-hour commute.
I was heading toward the Korean Baduk Association, eyes fixed on my smartphone.
The fourth round of the Unified Preliminaries.
A crucial match on the path to the CL Bank Cup Finals.
[Yeonhui: You have to win. You saw the look on Manager Ha’s face that day? On all the staff? It was so satisfying.]
A soft laugh escaped me.
The corners of my mouth lifted slightly.
It was pure Yeonhui.
[Inha: Don’t you have work? No customers?]
[Yeonhui: It’s my day off.]
Ah, that explained it.
That’s why she seemed so relaxed and unhurried.
But still.
‘Does she really just say things like that so openly?’
Usually she’d be embarrassed to mention it.
Yet that was Yeonhui too—the part of her I’d come to know.
Less guarded, honestly blunt in a way that made me laugh.
[Yeonhui: Sorry I can’t go cheer you on today. Want me to come anyway?]
[Inha: Don’t.]
[Yeonhui: Tch. You’d ask, then I’d go. Anyway, did you get word back? About the job posting?]
[Inha: Yeah. Made it past the document screening.]
I recalled the text message I’d received a few days ago.
Double K Bank recruitment drive.
I’d passed the initial application round.
The message included information about the interview schedule.
[Yeonhui: Congratulations! The interview… are you going to do it?]
My finger, poised over the phone, stilled.
I turned my gaze slightly toward the window.
Beyond the iron bridge, the Hangang River flowed.
Ripples catching the sunlight.
Until just recently,
‘landing a job at a major corporation’ had been my life’s ambition,
the very measure of success.
But now.
[Inha: I’m not sure. Whether I should go or not.]
I answered honestly.
Professional Go Player.
I’d found a destination I genuinely wanted to reach.
And yet,
I hadn’t met the Talent Retention Condition.
[Yeonhui: Don’t go to the interview. Really.]
It was unexpected.
Not long ago,
she’d sent me organized files to help me prepare for this very interview.
But now she didn’t ask further or press the issue.
Instead, she spoke with quiet finality.
[Yeonhui: You’ll just be distracted if you go. A bank employee? That’s just a salary job at best. But you…]
A second message arrived with a slight delay.
[Yeonhui: Annual salary two billion won!]
[Inha: Hey, that’s way too much.]
[Yeonhui: I’m kidding. Just focus on Go. I love watching you play.]
Before I knew it, I was laughing again.
I replied with exaggerated bravado.
[Inha: Don’t fall for me just because of that. I’m tired.]
[Yeonhui: I’m not the type to be that easily impressed lol]
Perhaps it was the nuance the text conveyed.
I felt something like a subtle seriousness underneath, though I couldn’t quite name it.
But I let it pass lightly, as always.
[Yeonhui: Anyway, win this. Please!]
I quietly slipped the smartphone into my bag.
Getting off at Eulji-ro 3-ga Station, I walked along Cheonggyecheon.
The temperature was cool, and a gentle breeze drifted through the air.
The moment the Korean Baduk Association building came into view, my chest settled into a quiet calm.
A far cry from the crowded first round.
Both participants and staff had noticeably thinned, lending the place an almost serene air.
Just as I was about to pass through the entrance and head toward the third-floor match room—
“Excuse me!”
Someone called out to me from behind.
“You’re Inha, right? I’m Gu Sungmo, a reporter with Baduk Tongsin.”
“Yes, hello.”
I greeted him awkwardly.
His face held a familiar quality, as though I’d crossed paths with him before.
But I couldn’t quite place it.
Gu Sungmo smiled gently as he spoke.
“Would you have time after today’s match?”
“Time?”
“Yes. I’d like to feature you in a Baduk Tongsin special. I’m here to request an interview.”
“Me?”
The unexpected offer left me momentarily speechless.
Gu Sungmo gave a short nod.
“Yes. In this world of Go, where there are no exceptions…… you seem like a different sort of person.”
My bemusement was brief.
But those words lingered in an odd way.
A different sort of person.
I wasn’t a Research Student.
I’d never trained systematically at a dojo or academy.
Perhaps that was simply how others saw it.
Then Gu Sungmo added with a meaningful smile,
“Who knows if that difference will show itself today?”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
This Gu Sungmo—
he had a knack for putting people at ease.
“If I win.”
“Then we have a deal.”
Gu Sungmo extended his hand.
There was no pressure in it, no demand.
I took his hand lightly.
We released our grip.
I turned again toward the stairs, ready to head up to the third-floor match room.
Then another voice stopped me.
“Kim Inha, please wait a moment.”
I turned to see a lean man with an unfamiliar smile approaching me.
An access pass hung around his neck.
Chinese Baduk TV.
He appeared to be a reporter from China’s professional Go media outlet.
“Sorry…… if not now…… I won’t be able to arrange an interview.”
His pronunciation was slightly halting.
His intonation unfamiliar.
Despite that,
his Korean was fluent enough to convey meaning.
“You want to interview me?”
Again.
This was the second interview request, after Gu Sungmo.
I hadn’t expected even a Chinese reporter to seek me out.
We weren’t even in the Finals yet.
‘So he heard about yesterday.’
Unknown.
My guess was that the information had filtered through Lu Yuan, the 6-dan, some way or another.
“Please…… I must confirm something after your match.”
There was a note of urgency in his manner.
Clear intent: he wanted to “confirm” something specific.
“If I win today, we’ll do the interview then.”
The same terms as when Gu was here.
That seemed to be enough.
The Chinese Baduk TV reporter made no effort to hide his delight, though his pronunciation remained strained.
“Thank you, very much. My name is Hui Lun. Until then…… I look forward to it.”
He bowed respectfully and stepped back.
With that, I turned toward the stairs leading up to the third floor.
A shadow fell across the entrance.
“Oh, Byun. Welcome.”
Gu raised his hand first, greeting him warmly.
Byun Ubin, Five-dan.
He approached with an unhurried smile, his neat suit lending him an air of ease.
“Pleased to meet you, Gu.”
“How are you feeling?”
Byun’s gaze drifted naturally toward me.
“Perfect.”
Gu glanced sideways at me with a slight smile.
“And what about you, Inha?”
I looked away for a moment, then met his eyes again.
Without shifting my expression, I answered flatly.
“The same.”
A confident smile played at the corners of Byun’s mouth.
“Then whoever loses today won’t have any excuses.”
He laughed as he spoke.
But those words sent a ripple of tension through the air.
Silence fell.
A subtle pressure settled between us.
Then.
Click.
Someone pressed the shutter.
It was Gu.
“Both of you speak so politely…… but the tension between you is something else.”
And as if not to be outdone.
Click.
Hui Lun, the Chinese reporter, snapped our photo as well.
The atmosphere had grown strange.
Ding-dong.
Someone had pressed the button—the elevator arrived.
“Well, it’s time. Both of you, let’s head up.”
With Gu’s mediation.
We stepped into the elevator together, heading for the third floor.
A narrow space.
As the doors closed, silence settled in.
Four of us were inside.
But it was just Byun and me.
Our breathing was faintly audible above all else.
Ding-dong.
Third floor.
The doors opened.
A corridor leading to the preliminaries match room.
We walked forward in silence.
Side by side down that hall.
Our footsteps struck the floor in turn—athletic shoes and dress shoes alternating.
Only the sound of our steps marked the path through the quiet.
Soon now.
Unified Preliminaries, Fourth Round.
The match that would determine who advances to the Finals begins.

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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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