I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 42

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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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Talents That Earn Too Much Money — Episode 42
Heo Gyu, 9-dan.
The supervisor of the Integrated Preliminaries, he walked quietly through the Match Room with his hands clasped behind his back.
His legs felt heavier than on the first day, his knees stiff and sore.
He wasn’t even playing himself.
Yet he felt physically exhausted.
‘…I’ve grown old too.’
An age when he’d lost competitive edge even in the senior division.
As a professional Go player.
All he did anymore was occasional work as a supervisor or referee.
As his gaze swept across the room,
a sharp pang of regret settled over him.
‘We can’t keep falling this far behind China…’
The Integrated Preliminaries.
Grand name, but
when you looked at the details, there were hardly any surprises or variables.
Thirteen Main Tournament tickets.
Ten of them went to China every year.
It was almost always a foregone conclusion.
The variation, if any, was a single slot either way.
This year looked no different.
‘Si-hu and Eun-woo are fine. They always perform well. The problem is…’
Jung Si-hu, ranked first in the world Go rankings.
Kim Eun-woo, ranked eighth in the world Go rankings.
Both were undeniably among the world’s elite players.
And among them,
Jung Si-hu, 9-dan, had broken the record of six consecutive years at number one held by Oh Su, 9-dan,
and was now in his seventh consecutive year at the top of the world rankings—a new legend of Korean Go.
However,
apart from those two, Korean Go had lost its competitive edge.
‘The middle is weak.’
A bitter smile played at Heo Gyu’s lips.
Korean Go’s greatest weakness.
There was no strong, young mid-tier to lean on.
To put it bluntly,
the world tournament results of Korean professionals ranked in the top twenty domestically
fell short even of Chinese players ranked outside the top fifty.
As a result, this preliminary round too
was likely to become China’s one-man show.
Perhaps that’s why.
Heo Gyu felt a constant thirst.
Someone.
Someone who might bear the weight of this fractured foundation
and emerge as a new pillar—he found himself hoping for such a person to appear.
In that light,
his gaze softened as it fell on Byeon Woo-bin, 5-dan, seated in the center of the Match Room.
‘In Korean Go… it’s rare to find talent as steady as Woo-bin.’
He’d shown brilliance from his days as a trainee.
And after turning professional, he’d grown rapidly.
He’d absorbed AI Go into his own style.
With intuitive and creative moves, he excelled at seizing the flow of the board.
Moreover, his record this year had been strong.
A player whose potential tomorrow outshone today.
Yet.
Something about Byeon Woo-bin’s game felt strange.
‘What’s going on?’
The expressions of the watching professionals weren’t normal either.
Astonishment.
Gasp.
Shock.
Heo Gyu, the 9-dan master, found his feet moving toward the board without conscious thought.
Byeon Woo-bin, the 5-dan, stood as he always did—spine straight, composed.
His expression betrayed no sign of wavering.
And yet.
His fingertips, his eyes—they spoke volumes.
He picked up stones and set them down again, repeating the motion.
His gaze swept across the entire board.
The prescribed flow had fractured.
His body language showed he sensed it himself.
‘How… how is this happening?’
Heo Gyu’s eyes widened.
Just moments ago.
Byeon Woo-bin’s black stones had been mounting a one-sided assault.
White had held its own, certainly.
But Heo Gyu had thought it would crumble soon enough.
Yet now.
Like a tree with deep roots.
White held firm, centered and unshaken.
It was black that trembled.
Every move Byeon Woo-bin played carried menace.
And yet.
None of those moves felt remotely threatening to black.
The momentum had been sapped.
Unnecessary skirmishes had been abandoned.
Reckless plays had been cleanly forsaken.
Territories were defended.
Thickness remained where it mattered.
And every held position became a fulcrum of strength.
……
Heo Gyu said nothing.
Rather, he could say nothing.
The professional players watching.
Now he understood the expressions on their faces.
If he were to look in a mirror.
He would wear that same expression himself.
He turned his head as if entranced by something.
‘Kim In-ha.’
Not a research-institute product.
An amateur whose origins and record were shrouded in mystery.
And yet.
He had defeated Kim Dong-gyu, the 8-dan.
He had defeated Lin Shui, the 8-dan.
He had defeated Lu Yuan, the 6-dan.
He had clawed his way here by beating formidable opponents.
More than that.
Lu Yuan, the 6-dan—the very man who had lost to him.
He was here again today, watching this match intently.
‘Could it be… not Woo-bin’s Go at all… but this man’s?’
It was an absurd thought.
Professionals didn’t gather like this just to observe some amateur.
He’d never seen it happen before.
Yet somehow.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching white—watching Kim In-ha with the white stones—more intently than black.
……
Heo Gyu steadied his breathing and gazed quietly down at the board.
Yes.
First, confirmation.
Tap.
White played a stone.
No forcing it.
He does not strike.
Yet.
The position has shifted—subtly, unmistakably tilted.
‘This, this is…’
Winning without fighting.
That kind of Go.
Playing solid defense means.
In other words.
It aligns with mastering battle itself.
Not merely blocking moves.
But reading the pulse of the attack and cutting it off.
To put it another way.
Controlling every stone.
The Go of one who designs the entire flow.
In that instant.
A single name flickered through Heo Gyu’s mind.
‘It, it resembles him. That man’s Go…’
Oh Su, 9-dan.
A Divine Entry that left its mark on the history of Go worldwide.
Flawless.
And.
The only human ever to triumph against AI in an official match.
Go that no one else could imitate.
Dominion, not prediction.
Instinct, not technique.
A unique flow, unmatched by any other.
Heo Gyu suddenly felt.
A chill run down his spine, cold and electric.
‘If, truly… if.’
If this game were not mere chance.
If he could play this kind of Go.
Without fluctuation.
Consistently, match after match.
‘…I may need to be afraid.’
Even the world’s elite professionals from Korea, China, and Japan.
Order.
The age itself.
Could be shaken.
By a single person.

* * *
‘I’m ahead.’
My reading of the position rarely errs.
A field where I hold some confidence.
‘I’m leading by two and a half points.’
Somewhere along the way.
The game had entered its endgame.
Time grows shorter.
Options narrow.
The more constrained the board, the simpler and more precise each move must be.
I picked up a stone.
Tap.
I blocked away the final remaining variable.
What remains is the finish.
Calculate precisely, and there’s no path for reversal.
I glanced quietly at Byeon Woo-bin’s expression.
‘He must feel frustrated.’
Unable to do anything.
Like he was just shadow-boxing the whole time.
I launched an offensive from the opening.
I pressed the attack through the middle game.
Momentum was on my side.
The offensive came naturally.
But control—control never came.
Byeon Woo-bin never seized the flow of the game, not once.
Every attack he made
struck like a hollow echo, meeting nothing but resistance.
No counterattack returned.
Perhaps that’s what made it feel so hollow.
As if he’d given everything while his opponent never drew his sword.
He must have felt his own helplessness.
Pushed forward by momentum,
a game that ended without him ever grasping the flow itself.
‘His pride must be wounded.’
This wasn’t mere defeat.
Perhaps
a humiliating end.
A brutal loss.
‘I have nothing to apologize for.’
Aside from personal feeling,
I simply chose the most certain path to victory.
That the process
might have been cruel to someone else—it didn’t matter.
He is a professional.
And I stand at the threshold of becoming one.
‘He can’t play the next move.’
Byeon Woo-bin’s hand had been still for quite some time.
His expression looked complicated.
Not focused on reading the board—
gathering his thoughts.
Composing his feelings.
That was the look on his face.
‘He can’t let it go.’
Persistence is not the same as refusing to surrender.
Right now, Byeon Woo-bin
couldn’t accept that he’d lost to me.
Whoosh.
The professional players who’d been observing began to leave, one by one.
Regardless of the remaining moves,
the verdict was clear: nothing left could change the outcome.
On the board,
only meaningless time was flowing.
Then.
Byeon Woo-bin quietly lifted his head.
His expression remained blank, but the emotion behind it couldn’t be hidden.
Rage.
And pain.
His jaw clenched,
he placed two white stones on the board.
Resignation.
……
I watched him silently.
Byeon Woo-bin rose without a word.
Without a bow.
His stones left on the board, untouched.
He turned and moved toward the exit.
“You played well.”
I
maintained propriety to the end.
Victory, too,
And good sportsmanship.
To show precisely that I’d won.
And besides.
His dismissive words and manner.
There was no reason to let them slide.
“It seems my condition was simply a bit better today.”
He stiffened.
Byeon Woo-bin’s footsteps halted.
Yet.
He never turned his head.
His last shred of pride wouldn’t allow it.
Instead.
His shoulders trembled faintly.
Holding back his fury.
I could imagine what his face looked like now.
Without even seeing it.
He resumed walking.
Heavy-footed and silent.
I didn’t watch his back recede any further.
‘That was petty of me.’
He was older, too.
I’d shown a lack of grace, perhaps.
But.
It was only a fleeting thought.
Byeon Woo-bin had been the one to show displeasure first.
Despite openly dismissing me.
It would be absurd for me to stay silent.
—Ding!
A familiar chime sounded.
[Talent: Go (A+)]
[Tournament Record]
—7th Korea-China Association Go Tournament Champion (1 title)
—17th National Amateur Water Resistance Go ‘Gyeonggi Province Champion Division’ Champion (1 title)
—Obtained official rank ‘Amateur 5-dan’.
—9th Chunhyang Cup ‘Chunhyang Division’ Champion (1 title)
—11th Presidential Cup National Go Tournament ‘Master Division’ Champion (1 title)
—Obtained official rank ‘Amateur 7-dan’.
—30th Ciel Bank Cup World Masters Integrated Preliminaries Advanced
—30th Ciel Bank Cup World Masters Main Tournament Advanced
Main Tournament advancement.
One more line had been added.
It was only natural, in a sense.
As an amateur, I’d qualified for the main tournament of a world-class professional Go competition.
‘Now it’s starting to feel real.’
At last.
I was drawing closer to the threshold of the professional world.
The reality that I could now face world-class players.
A thrill of overwhelming anticipation washed over me.
Then.
Another message followed.
[Congratulations. You have partially satisfied the conditions for your ‘Talent maintenance’.]
‘Ugh.’
My enthusiasm deflated in an instant.
At this rate.
When could I ever quit being a bank security guard?
My main job holding me back.
Honestly, it was suffocating.
Then.
—Ding-ling!
‘……What now?’
An unfamiliar notification chime sounded again.
My head lifted instinctively.
It was the first time it had gone off like this in succession.
I opened the window slowly, half hopeful, half wary.
[You are continuing on a remarkable path of achievement.]
[Calculating your corresponding reward.]
[Reward has been confirmed.]
[Congratulations. Upon achieving your ‘First Achievement,’ you will receive an exchange voucher.]
First Achievement.
Exchange voucher.
Unfamiliar words.
As I stared at the screen with a blank expression,
the next message appeared.
[‘First Achievement’: Win the 30th Ciel Bank Cup World Masters, one of the world’s four major Go tournaments.]
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
My excitement evaporated
the moment I read that single sentence.
Another condition.
Just like maintaining my Talent.
This system always demands some result in the same way.
But then.
[As a reward for ‘First Achievement,’ you will receive a ‘Main Job Exchange Voucher’.]
[Your current Main Job is ‘Bank Security Guard.’]
[The ‘Main Job Exchange Voucher’ can also be used as a ‘Diamond Roulette Voucher.’]
“……!”
My heart trembled.
For a moment, the slow, lagging beat
surged into frantic rhythm, flooded with dopamine.
‘This… this is real?’
Main Job Exchange Voucher.
And.
Diamond Roulette Voucher.
If that’s the case, everything changes.
Until now, I had been
‘focused only on meeting conditions to keep my Talent.’
But this time is different.
I’m not just holding onto something—I can reshape it entirely.
My entire life.
A chance to upgrade once more.
‘I have to win the championship with my life on the line.’
Kim In-ha, twenty-nine years old.
In my life,
this was the day I found my greatest motivation.

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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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