I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 43

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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 Talents That Turn to Profit — Episode 43
Monday morning.
My commute after a week away.
The same bus I always took, the same scenery streaming past the windows.
Yet somehow it felt strange.
‘……I never thought I’d feel more at home on the road to the Korean Baduk Association.’
A curious thing indeed.
More familiar than the commute I’d made for two and a half years.
Only a few weeks.
That path I’d traveled back and forth through the Amateur Selection and Unified Preliminary rounds felt sharper now, more vivid.
The landscape blurring past the window.
Felt like someplace I no longer belonged.
Buzz.
A vibration that cut through my thoughts.
I pulled out my phone to check.
[Yeon-hui: Senior, are you heading to work?]
[In-ha: Yeah.]
[Yeon-hui: Found an article…… You’re living like a movie character.]
[In-ha: Movie?]
A moment later, Yeon-hui sent a link.
A news article.
The preview showed a large photo of me gazing down at a Baduk board.
[The Amateur Who Catches Professionals: Kim In-ha. Let’s Talk About Him.]
‘……What is this?’
For anyone who plays Baduk.
A headline provocative enough that you couldn’t resist clicking.
But what was truly shocking.
Was the fact that I was the subject of this article.
I reached out and clicked the link.
Below the bold headline.
The first lines began, bearing the name of reporter Gu Seong-mo.
—For decades, Korea’s Baduk world has been led by elites.
Through Go academies and as research students, then professional debut. No one had ever strayed from this path.
But three months ago, a salaryman appeared at a regional amateur tournament.
I was startled as I read on.
The Jung-Buk District Association Championship.
There was a photo of me, taken from a distance.
—This amateur office worker shattered establishments like breaking down fortress gates: he swept every title, from the Water Smoke Championship to the Spring Fragrance Championship, and finally the most prestigious Presidential Cup’s highest division.
All within just two months.
‘This is a bit…….’
Heat crawled across my face.
The fact that someone saw me this way.
Written as though I’d accomplished something extraordinary.
But the truth was, I’d only entered to test my talent and picked up the prize money as a side gig.
And yet.
The version of me in this article was portrayed like a movie protagonist.
—He reached the apex of amateurs and threw down a gauntlet at the Ciel Bank World Masters.
He passed through the Amateur Selection and advanced to the Unified Preliminaries.
He defeated Kim Dong-gyu 8-dan, Lin Shui 8-dan, and Lu Yuan 6-dan, advancing to the preliminary finals.
And in the final match, he would face Byeon Woo-bin 5-dan.
‘No, where did this photo come from…….’
In front of the elevator on the first floor of the Korean Baduk Association.
That moment when Byeon Woo-bin and I faced off sharply, locked in psychological warfare.
A composition fit for a movie thumbnail.
I felt heat rising to my face.
—The result was a startling victory for amateur Kim In-ha.
Lu Yuan 6-dan, who lost to Kim In-ha the previous day, said, “I don’t understand why he’s still an amateur.”
Heo Gyu 9-dan, who served as chief arbiter that day, evaluated him as having “the feel of watching the late Oh Su 9-dan play, with strength to compete against elite professionals.”
My neck burned hot.
My eyes were reading the article, but my mind felt numb, as though it had stopped.
The evaluations of active Professional Players.
Made me burn with heat, giddy with excitement, and simultaneously mortified.
—In the midst of all this, I came across another stunning piece of news.
Saeki Uzuha, a prodigy among female players who’d recently fallen into a slump.
The fact that she was actually receiving Instructional Games from Amateur Kim In-ha.
My skin crawled.
But where on earth had I heard this from?
There wasn’t even a mention of it during the interview.
It felt as though I’d been completely exposed.
For the first time, the existence of a journalist felt genuinely frightening to me.
—There had never been such an Amateur in Korean Go.
Twenty-nine years old.
Not a former Research Student, but an ordinary office worker.
An Amateur who defeats Professionals.
An Amateur who teaches Professionals.
Shouldn’t someone like this be called an “Ecosystem Disruptor” or a “Heretic”?
‘Ah.’
Looking at the descriptors attached to my name.
My face burned again.
I didn’t have the courage to scroll down to the next line.
Then.
Buzz. Buzz.
My smartphone rang again.
This time the caller had changed.
It was Jang Yu-na, 2-dan.
[Jang Yu-na: Nameless!]
[In-ha: Yes?]
[Jang Yu-na: Did you see the article!?]
[In-ha: Ah, I’m just looking at it now…….]
[Jang Yu-na: There’s chaos in China!]
[In-ha: What? In China……?]
[Jang Yu-na: Yes! Oh geez. I wanted to introduce you first…… Let me send you the link, turn on auto-translate and check it out!]
What, there’s another article out in China?
I tapped the link and navigated to the news site.
When I pressed the translation button at the top of the screen, a large headline in Korean caught my eye.
[Chinese Go Crumbles Before the Reclusive Master “Nameless”.]
[An Amateur from a Small Nation Poses Questions to the World of Go.]
‘Wow.’
Whether in Korea or China.
The headlines alone were crafted.
They made you unable to resist clicking.
—The identity of “Nameless” had finally been revealed.
Introduced through a Korean streamer, he was.
More familiar to Chinese Go fans as “Reclusive Master Nameless”.
Based on his Playing Style, his nickname, and his somewhat machine-translated chat messages.
Speculation had circulated that he was a Chinese resident in Korea.
Some even whispered that he was the student of Deng Qiao, 9-dan, and hailed from Guangdong Province.
‘……They think I’m Chinese?’
I let out a hollow laugh.
My parents are Korean, and I’ve completed my mandatory service in the Republic of Korea Army.
I didn’t even know where Guangdong Province was situated.
—Yet he was Korean, moreover an Amateur.
It was extraordinary. “Nameless,” who’d become the talk of the circuit by successively defeating Chinese professionals.
That was Amateur Kim In-ha, who had consecutively vanquished Lin Shui, 8-dan, and Lu Yuan, 6-dan.
The feeling was strange.
In China, a land of different language and culture.
The name Kim In-ha was trending in real time.
Somehow bewildering, yet to be honest, deeply satisfying.
—Korea had always had its ankles held back by China.
While the world of Go is dominated by the Chinese, the world’s top ranking has eluded us for seven years running.
We are a major power, so why are we always a second-rate nation masquerading as first?
Even amateurs were trampling underfoot the young players who would carry the future.
‘The language is rather harsh… is this all right?’
The journalist who wrote the piece was Hui Ren, a Chinese reporter.
The Chinese are proud people.
I’d heard they tend to be stingy with objective self-criticism.
But there was a twist at the end.
-This year, however, is different.
We have Zhou Xuwan, a 9-dan master.
His AI Match Rate in the Phoenix Cup final reached 73%. It was an astonishing figure.
At this rate, we can not only aim for the Ciel Bank Championship, but even reclaim the number one spot in the world rankings.
We must prove the status of a great power.
Whether the opponent is Jung Si-hu or Nameless.
The article ended there.
He’d circled around it diplomatically, but the message was clear: China would prevail.
But that wasn’t what mattered.
‘…AI Match Rate of 73%?’
I couldn’t believe it.
If it were limited to the opening, perhaps.
But if it included all the way to the final settlement, that was a figure no human could achieve.
The realm of the impossible.
Light caution slowly transformed into genuine threat.
‘Monsters like this are entering the main tournament?’
There were fourteen players in total who received main tournament seeds without going through preliminary selection.
The true elite of world Go.
The silver lining, if there was one:
my talent had evolved to A+.
Data.
Intuition.
A sense that was mine alone, born where these two converged.
But.
‘Would even this work against the world’s elite?’
It wouldn’t be easy.
Intuition and depth that transcended mere calculation, experience, the subtle touch in decisive moments.
A single flawless move that decides the game.
Across Korea, China, and Japan, there were over a hundred top-tier masters.
But world championship titles belonged to only a rare few.
Always the province of the absolute elite.
-Next stop, Sam-Il Market. If you’re getting off, please…
I pressed the bell and stood from my seat.
The main tournament was three weeks away.
‘I have time.’
Not enough perhaps, but I would prepare with the resolve to win.
AI analysis.
Study sessions.
I would use every resource available.
I had steeled my resolve.

* * *
Ciel Bank.
As always, the branch atmosphere remained unchanged.
Perfunctory greetings.
Distant expressions.
Eyes devoid of interest.
Even after taking the entire week off, nothing had changed.
Once, I had hated this.
Being disregarded.
Being sidelined.
Feeling discriminated against.
But not anymore.
‘Actually, it’s easier this way.’
I liked that distance.
Existing in the same space, yet never quite mingling—that sense of separation.
For people who had no desire to exchange words.
No one pried into my affairs, and I didn’t have to explain myself.
Perhaps my transformed self after work,
had given me a kind of ease in how I carried myself around others.
“Congratulations, Kim! I knew you could do it. Main Tournament entry to the World Go Championship… Ah! I was so excited I didn’t sleep a wink last night!”
Of course.
Not everyone kept their distance.
There were exceptions.
My stalwart supporter—the Branch Manager.
“Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you. Thanks to you, I got Kim Min-ho’s autograph and a photo with him.”
I smiled without saying anything.
“But first, we need to change how I address you. One more win and you’ll be a Professional Player, won’t you?”
“That’s too soon. Please call me that after I officially enter the Ranks.”
“Then it’s Kim the Professional Player. Or should I say Kim the Instructor? Ha.”
The Branch Manager laughed with genuine pleasure.
It struck me as strange.
Not long ago,
I’d been watching his mood carefully upon arriving at work, cleaning his office.
Now here I was, sitting across from him, sharing coffee.
I, Kim In-ha, once just a bank security guard.
“Talking with you makes the time fly. Come on, let’s go conduct the morning assembly.”
I followed the Branch Manager out to the lobby.
The deputy manager and other staff were waiting for the assembly to begin.
‘My cover’s blown.’
People stared at me openly.
Indifference.
Envy.
Jealousy.
All those emotions tangled together.
Directed at me, of all people.
The Branch Manager stepped forward and spoke with measured dignity.
“Before we begin the assembly… ”
He paused meaningfully, then looked at me.
“I have special news to share first. Kim, come up front.”
‘Me?’
An unexpected call-out.
Flustered, I took a step forward.
“Our Kim here passed the Preliminary Selection of the World Championship that our bank hosted. Only thirty-two people from across the globe compete in the Main Tournament.”
His voice carried across the entire lobby.
“This is no small thing. Only the most brilliant minds reach that stage. And on top of that, Kim is about to officially enter the Professional Ranks.”
Pride filled the Branch Manager’s face as he spoke.
But I, the person in question, felt heat flooding my face.
Embarrassment and mortification washed over me simultaneously.
“Having such talent in our branch is a blessing. Everyone, let’s give Kim a round of applause!”
The Branch Manager began clapping vigorously.
And then,
scattered applause followed from around the room.
Perfunctory clapping.
Awkward clapping.
And decidedly reluctant clapping.
‘Please, please stop, sir.’
Now not just my face but my ears had turned red.
I understood the Branch Manager’s intentions.
I was genuinely grateful.
But being put on display before the staff and receiving applause felt unbearably embarrassing, no matter how I thought about it.
A strange, complicated feeling—shame mixed with awkwardness, yet somehow ticklish beneath it all.
Yeon-hui, watching me from a distance, had her hand over her mouth, quietly laughing.
‘Just… pretend you didn’t see anything.’
The morning briefing ended with routine announcements.
The Branch Manager retreated to his office, and the staff dispersed to their desks one by one.
I turned to head back to my own desk when—
“Congratulations, In-ha.”
Someone beside me spoke up casually.
It was Ha.
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d pull it off, but that’s impressive. They say Entering the Ranks is harder than getting into Seoul National University, right?”
Park added his own broad grin to the conversation.
“Well… thank you.”
I deflected politely.
Ha seized on my words with a smile.
“But In-ha, at your level, shouldn’t you just quit the bank? The Professional Player world is cutthroat.”
“Park’s got a point. For your future, you should focus on being a Professional Player.”
“It’s an opportunity you’ve finally seized—would be a shame to let it slip away, right?”
The two men smiled pleasantly in front of me.
On the surface, it sounded like advice.
But the drawn-out tone masked something else—a subtle pressure.
‘What are they after?’
I looked back and forth between their faces.
Yeon-hui had already told me the story.
The Branch Manager had forbidden improper duties beyond the security guard’s scope.
All of it had been dumped on the contractor replacing me.
Kwak, the team lead from the contractor company, had even called to complain.
He’d asked why your staff was acting like that.
I inhaled slowly.
“I appreciate the advice. But.”
I bowed my head slightly.
Then I spoke with deliberate clarity.
“I’ll manage my own affairs.”
……!
In that moment, the expressions drained from both their faces.
A line drawn firmly.
Ha’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Park forced an awkward smile.
“In-ha, that’s harsh.”
Ha let out a sound as though wounded.
“We were just trying to wish you well, but if you take it like that, it’s… hurtful.”
That was when.
Bang.
The Branch Manager’s office door swung open hard.
The Branch Manager emerged with a stern expression and walked toward us.
At his approach,
Ha and Park stiffened.
Yet the Branch Manager’s gaze remained fixed on me.
“Kim, there’s a call from headquarters.”
The lobby fell silent all at once.
“They called to confirm whether you work at our branch.”
“……Me?”
I found myself repeating the words, caught off-guard.
Headquarters was asking about me?
The thought lasted only a moment.
Buzz.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
The Branch Manager tilted his chin quietly toward me.
“Take it.”
I slowly pulled out my phone.
Unknown number.
I took a breath and pressed the call button.
“Hello?”
—Is this Kim In-ha? I want to make sure I have the right number.
“Yes, that’s correct. May I ask who’s calling?”
—Hello. This is the Ciel Bank Headquarters Brand Strategy Team. We’re reaching out regarding your advance to the main tournament of the Ciel Bank Championship. Do you have a moment to talk right now?
For an instant, my mind went blank.
Headquarters.
Brand Strategy Team.
I’d thought those places would never have anything to do with me.
Through the phone, though brief, many words were exchanged.
I ended the call as if I’d been struck, and slowly lowered the phone.
“What did they say?”
The Branch Manager asked, as if he’d been waiting for this.
The staff members kept their faces blank on the surface, but I could feel them waiting for my answer.
“They said it was the headquarters Brand Strategy Team. They wanted to talk about corporate publicity or something…….”
I added the words hesitantly, groping for them.
“They’re planning to visit our branch.”

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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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