I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 49

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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 Lucrative Talents — Episode 49
After work.
He headed toward a station three stops away from the branch.
He entered Byeol Dabang, ordered a drink, and settled into a corner seat.
After catching his breath for a moment, his gaze drifted without thinking.
A glance.
The System Window floating at the edge of his vision came into view.
[Talent: Go (A+)]
[Championship Record]
– 7th Joongbuk District Association Go Tournament Champion (1st place)
– 17th National Amateur Go Championship, ‘Gyeonggi Province Strongest Division’ Champion (1st place)
– Official Dan Certificate: Amateur 5-dan obtained.
– 9th Chunhyang Cup, ‘Chunhyang Division’ Champion (1st place)
– 11th Presidential Cup National Go Tournament, ‘Strongest Division’ Champion (1st place)
– Official Dan Certificate: Amateur 7-dan obtained.
– 30th CIL Bank World Masters Preliminary Round qualified
– 30th CIL Bank World Masters Main Round qualified
– 8th Biryong Tournament Amateur Strongest Champion (1st place)
Another line had been added to his record.
Beyond that, nothing had changed.
Two days had passed with no new notifications, no messages.
Just one more item in the list.
‘Why isn’t anything showing up?’
The Biryong Tournament.
A competition with substantial prize money and genuine prestige.
Among amateur tournaments, it rivaled the Presidential Cup in status.
That’s why he’d hoped.
He thought the system might offer some reward, or that this could be the catalyst for something bigger.
But there was nothing.
Only silence.
In the end, he reached one conclusion.
‘There’s nothing left to gain from amateur competitions.’
The prize money and the small car were certainly attractive.
But they were merely ‘bonuses’, not the ‘goal’.
Perks that enriched his real life.
There was nothing more to be had from the amateur stage.
Just as this thought hardened in his mind,
his smartphone vibrated, and a familiar name appeared on the screen.
It was Jang Yu-na, 2-dan.
[Jang Yu-na: Congratulations on winning the Biryong Tournament! I’m so sorry the congratulations are late — there was an event this weekend.]
[Kim In-ha: Thank you. By the way, haven’t I received any match requests?]
Before the main round, he wanted to play as many professionals as possible.
Ideally, he hoped for opponents close to the top tier.
A reply arrived shortly after.
[Jang Yu-na: I’m sorry… The Chinese professionals have completely stopped submitting requests. Everyone who had applied withdrew too. Apart from your skill level, it seems they’re avoiding matches against amateurs altogether. In China, pride is practically equivalent to strength.]
He had revealed the identity of the mysterious player as Kim In-ha, an amateur, starting from the preliminary round.
There was no longer any reason to hide himself, no reason to lie.
He had proven himself through his strength.
But there was a price.
The opportunity to play against professionals that he’d been able to gain thanks to the mask of anonymity.
[Jang Yu-na: I asked a few of the domestic professionals too, and they all had similar reactions. They said there’s no real reason to play against an amateur. I tried to arrange matches, but those people aren’t in their prime anymore…]
Her message paused for a moment.
Then her words continued, more cautiously.
[Jang Yu-na: And this is just my feeling, but… it seems like there are some people who view you as a threat.]
[Kim In-ha: Me?]
[Jang Yu-na: Yes. The mysterious player who was suspected of being a top-tier professional turned out to be an amateur, In-ha. Their pride took a hit. Some of the professionals have even gathered to analyze your games.]
[Kim In-ha: Ah…]
The memory of visiting the Go café Magnolia came back to him.
Young professionals had gathered there, reviewing his games and theorizing about his identity.
Thinking back on it now, when they learned that those moves had come from an amateur,
What must they have felt in that moment?
Confusion that transcended mere surprise.
And perhaps even a touch of displeasure, maybe discomfort as well.
[Jang Yu-na: And In-ha is the first domestic amateur ever mentioned in Chinese media. With all that buzz behind him… naturally, it’s going to stand out to those prickly professionals.]
I exhaled slowly.
And accepted it all with quiet resignation.
This ripple was of my own making, and I had to bear it in full.
‘There’s no helping it.’
It was unfortunate that the game against the Chinese professional had fallen through, but I could maintain my Practical Game Sense through the study group.
“Senior!”
When I looked up, Yeon-hee stood there with a bright smile.
She was dressed in casual clothes, having finished work for the day.
A light-toned knit and a subtle plaid skirt.
Her bob cut fell artlessly neat, her makeup minimal and tasteful.
The composed, charming impression drew a few sidelong glances from other patrons in the café.
“What were you looking at?”
“Oh, just chatting with someone for a moment.”
“A woman?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, quite popular.”
“Popular, hardly.”
I chuckled and wrapped up my conversation with Jang Yu-na.
“You’re a bit late, aren’t you?”
“Oh, well… work piled up a bit.”
“Really? You don’t have that much to keep you busy, do you?”
When I tilted my head in confusion, Yeon-hee gave an awkward laugh.
Then she hastily changed the subject.
“Oh, right. Senior, what academy are you attending?”
“Academy?”
“An interview academy! ‘Until I lose. I’m undefeated.’ Like some movie line or something.”
“It just happened to be the only thing that came to mind.”
At that, Yeon-hee burst out laughing.
“So you really did get the thirty million won prize money?”
“Yeah. It came in earlier.”
“Wow… So you’re getting a car? Take me for a drive!”
“Not yet. It’ll take about two weeks.”
“Darn.”
Yeon-hee took a sip of her drink with a wistful smile.
Then she tilted her head and stared at me intently.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Suddenly it feels like there’s a distance. Sweeping every amateur tournament, heading toward Professional Registration soon, even a bank commercial now. I’m wondering if you’re really the senior I know.”
“Hey. What distance between us?”
“What are we anyway?”
Her sharp counter-question caught me off guard, and the words stuck in my throat.
“Well… I mean…”
“Ah ah. Don’t say it. Ah ah. I don’t want to hear it.”
Yeon-hee tapped her ears with her palms and cut off my response.
“What are you doing?”
“I just have a feeling that if you answer, it’ll only make things worse.”
“Worse for who? For me?”
“For you, senior.”
Yeon-hee continued quietly, all playfulness gone from her eyes.
“Honestly, it’s strange enough that you keep working as a security guard.”
“That’s… ”
I trailed off without meaning to.
The right words simply wouldn’t come.
I couldn’t bring up the System, and yet I couldn’t brush it off either.
“Anyway, that’s how it is.”
Yeon-hee took a small breath and continued.
“I’m happy you’re doing well, but I hate that you’re quitting. Becoming a professional Go player is cool, but I hate that you’ll be at the office every day and I won’t see you…”
Yeon-hee’s words trailed off, her smile turning awkward and uncertain.
There was something endearingly scattered about her, a candor that didn’t quite mask itself.
I found myself remembering the first days after she’d joined our branch, how she’d come to me with worries—questions about work, troubles with Ha—laid bare without pretense.
“Have I grown close to you, maybe?”
The question hung there, careful and self-conscious.
Something about it made me laugh.
Same building. Same office.
We ran into each other constantly, always finding something to talk about.
And after work, like this—spending time together had become routine enough that it made sense.
“Ugh, no more of that heavy stuff. Buy me dinner?”
“Sure. I’ll treat.”
“Really? Then I’m eating properly tonight. Good food lifts the mood, you know?”
Yeon-hee reached for her bag with the enthusiasm of someone already committed to the plan.
“How about tteokbokki? You like it, don’t you?”
“……Wait, you remembered that?”
“Yeah. You used to get it all the time in college.”
The corners of her mouth twitched at that, a small involuntary movement.
She was clearly pleased, but trying not to show it—that much was obvious.
“Is there a good place nearby?”
“Nothing fancy, but there’s a new franchise called Tteok Mi-dang. I’ve been wanting to try it.”
“Oh, that place? It’s been blowing up on social media. I’ve been dying to eat there.”
“Yeah?”
Knowing she wanted to go eased something in me.
“Good. I was curious what you’d think of it, honestly.”
“My opinion?”
“Whether it’s actually good or just hype.”
“If that’s all you need, I can help with that. Let’s go—I’m starving.”
We stood and left the café.
After walking about five minutes along the main road, a hand-painted sign came into view.
Tteok Mi-dang.
The interior was larger than I’d expected.
It was a space devoted to Korean desserts and rice cakes, but rendered with a polished, contemporary sensibility—nothing stuffy about it.
Under warm lighting, through the open kitchen, freshly prepared tteokbokki and side dishes were arrayed appetizingly on display.
Yeon-hee studied the menu with audible delight.
“There are so many varieties. Quick-serve tteokbokki, but then there’s a premium line where you cook it at the table—with flame-seared beef brisket, cheese omelette combinations…… wow, it’s like a buffet.”
I nodded absently, scanning the shop.
My expression darkened gradually.
If a franchise like this opened near Mom’s restaurant?
The customer base might not overlap perfectly, but the hit would be unavoidable.
Premium tteokbokki was their main draw, but pre-made instant tteokbokki was being sold right alongside it.
“Should I get the flame-seared brisket? The meat-stick fries look good on the side.”
“Let’s order one of the instant ones too?”
“Good idea.”
Yeon-hee worked the kiosk and placed the order.
Before long, an appetizing hotpot of ingredients arrived at our table.
Bubble, bubble.
The broth began to boil.
Meanwhile, the instant tteokbokki we’d ordered came out as well.
Yeon-hee speared a rice cake with her fork and spoke.
“Let’s dig in. Hmm—oh, this is really good? That sweet-salty bite just coats your mouth perfectly.”
“Is it?”
I picked up a cake and took a generous bite.
Flavors unfolded across my palate.
Rice cakes in a rich fish-cake broth—a classic broth tteokbokki.
Less aggressive than standard versions, softer, cleaner on the finish.
The sweet-salty balance was textbook—and it paired beautifully with the fish cake.
‘There’s hardly any off-taste.’
At this level of quality……
I could easily see it winning over the students who passed by Mom’s place every day.
Meanwhile, the premium tteokbokki in the hotpot began to simmer.
Yeon-hee tore off a piece of rice cake, dipped it in the broth, and took a bite, sighing in appreciation.
“Wow, that’s delicious.”
I scooped up a spoonful and tasted it myself.
The char from the flame lingered subtly in the background, while the rich beef fat married perfectly with the gochujang base.
‘This much?’
Our In-ha Bunsik sells traditional tteokbokki.
I’d assumed a different customer base than this kind of operation, but.
On-the-spot line.
Premium line.
Takeout, delivery, marketing too.
This scale could swallow the entire commercial district.
A catastrophic hit to our sales was inevitable.
I set down my spoon quietly and stared at the pot, steam rising gently from its surface.
‘…I need a strategy.’

* * *
Inside the bank.
The branch was quieter than usual.
It was the slowest time of the week anyway, but the entire branch was wrapped in an odd tension.
The reason was the notice posted at the entrance.
—This branch is currently conducting bank promotional filming. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.
Beep.
The automatic doors slid open and a customer stepped through.
It was a stern-looking elderly woman.
“Welcome to CIL Bank. What can we help you with today?”
“Why would I tell you that…?”
The old woman’s sharp gaze slid past me to something behind.
The moment she spotted the camera crew led by Team Lead Jung Su-yeon, her expression transformed completely.
“Oh, I just want to give my grandson some spending money. Came to make a withdrawal.”
“Of course. Please have a seat and I’ll call your number.”
I pulled a ticket from the number machine and handed it to her.
The grandmother nodded with a sullen expression and shuffled over to the waiting area.
Then she glanced sideways at the camera.
“….”
I was wearing the same uniform as always, standing by the entrance to guide customers, doing work I did every day.
Yet today it felt like I was working in a completely different place, doing something entirely different.
The camera crew centered on Team Lead Jung Su-yeon was transforming everyone’s behavior.
“Kim, must be tough? Have some coffee while you work.”
Manager Ha approached with an awkwardly polite tone.
In his hand was a takeout coffee from Byeol Dabang.
Both his words and his manner were unusually gentle.
A person who normally wouldn’t even meet my eyes.
Manager Park was the same way.
“Kim.”
He tossed the words casually as he passed by.
“…If you’re busy or something’s difficult, just let me know anytime. I can help.”
It was I who felt awkward hearing it.
Consideration that had never come before, not even once.
Wondering what I might say on camera, whether my name might somehow come up.
Eyes full of apprehension.
Rather than sincerity, it was anxiety I felt first.
It was unmistakably clear they were conscious of me.
“Thank you both.”
I bowed my head briefly.
Only after hearing those words did their tense expressions ease slightly.
An awkward sense of relief flickered across their faces.
Yeon-hee, watching from her counter, was smiling quietly.
A silent smile that lived only in her eyes.
Her gaze held a playful light, as if thinking, ‘How ridiculous.’
“Let’s move on to the next interview.”
Following Jung Su-yeon’s instructions, the film crew moved toward the VIP room.
The Branch Manager stood there, visibly tense.
He adjusted his tie neatly against his suit and began speaking earnestly before the camera.
“Having a diligent and exemplary employee like Kim here is our branch’s greatest asset. And yet he never neglects his own development…….”
I watched him for a moment, then turned quietly away.
I stepped out to the cash counter and checked the ATM status according to my usual routine.
Whether the machines were functioning properly, if anyone needed assistance, whether the receipt disposal bin was full, if anyone had left food behind.
I confirmed each item methodically, doing what I was meant to do.
‘……I think I can go in now.’
It was just as I finished the last inspection and turned to leave.
Whoosh.
The automatic door slid open.
An elderly woman in a gray vest and a hat pressed low on her head rushed in.
Her steps were quick yet careful, and the hand gripping the smartphone held to her ear trembled faintly.
“I, I’m here now. Wait. I’m not used to machines. Huh? I didn’t hang up. I’m still listening…….”
Her voice was low and urgent.
Her eyes darted about with the anxiety of someone being pursued.
As she jabbed at the ATM, deep tension marked every movement.
“The account number is three-six-seven…… Could you say that a bit louder? I can’t hear well. Four-seven…….”
In that instant.
Instinct rang out sharp and clear.
A word, a gesture, a man’s voice leaking low through the phone.
Emphasized passages from the manual.
Typical patterns from training videos.
All of it — every warning — aligned perfectly before my eyes.
This was.
‘Voice phishing.’
I drew breath reflexively.
Then, quietly, I stepped toward her.

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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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