I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 59

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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 Make Money 059
On the way to work.
In the old days, I would’ve sat by the bus window, staring blankly at the familiar scenery.
But today was different.
More precisely, where I was sitting had changed.
“Nice.”
I turned the steering wheel smoothly.
The vehicle hugged the road as it curved left.
A compact SUV—the Benu.
My prize for winning the Biryong Tournament, and the first car of my life.
It was quieter than I expected, and it fit perfectly in my hands.
The ride felt entirely different from the military vehicle I’d driven while serving as a driver.
“The small frame makes it easy to handle, too.”
Even though I’d only acquired one car, the world somehow looked a little different.
The commute wasn’t particularly unpleasant anymore.
Bank security guard.
The job that once felt like dead weight now stirred something like enjoyment in me.
I cracked the window open slightly.
On the road.
The morning air brushed past.
Mingled with that breeze, the radio-like stream of “Park Jin-man’s Baduk in YouTube” played through.
Of all times, they were replaying my interview from right after the semifinals.
“Kim In-ha, you’ve been showing upsets throughout this tournament. Did you anticipate it?”
“There are no upsets in Baduk. Mistakes are skill, too.”
“Your semifinal opponent is Wu Xiaoyu, a 9-dan professional. You defeated Kim Eun-woo, also a 9-dan, to advance. A word about your resolve, please?”
“I haven’t lost yet. I’ll do my best to keep the record intact.”
—There you have it, folks? Let’s give him a hand.
The moment the interview ended, Park Jin-man clapped—bright, rhythmic claps.
—Kim In-ha, or from now on, let me just call you In-ha, to keep it easy. Why are you so stylish? You popped out of nowhere and turned the Baduk world upside down. You’re a natural star.
His voice carried a hint of laughter.
The tone dripped with affection.
And beneath it all, a genuine sense of wonder seeped through.
—Wouldn’t you say, everyone? Honestly, these days, who plays Baduk? There’s so much to do for fun. My own son doesn’t play.
Though his tone remained light, Park Jin-man’s voice rang with sincerity.
—It’s true that Baduk is a quiet game, but we need to shed that prim image of the world beyond the board. O Su, the 9-dan, did that too, didn’t he? Stirred things up, then stirred them up again with his play. No wonder they called him an anger-monger back in China.
I couldn’t check the chat while driving, but the viewer response seemed quite favorable.
—Look at this. The Chinese are going crazy right now—the headlines are burning hot. “Never has Chinese Baduk been so humiliated,” “Chinese professionals getting toyed with by an amateur from a small country.” Ah, just reading it feels like old heartburn melting away. In-ha, take down Wu Xiaoyu too. Let’s get a finals between Koreans for once. You hear me?
I couldn’t help but laugh at that.
It’s unmistakable, really.
The “Park Jin-man’s Baduk in” channel has a raw, unfiltered feel.
Rough, blunt speech.
No hesitation in showing resentment toward China, and both Park Jin-man and the viewers speak their minds without softening anything.
It’s worlds apart from the streaming channel of Jang Yu-na, the 2-dan, which draws a younger fanbase.
The traditional, elderly atmosphere of Baduk TV seems positively foreign by comparison.
Then Park Jin-man’s voice echoed through again.
—So I looked into In-ha a bit, you know? Turns out, a Baduk journalist I know was saying this friend of ours… no, our In-ha, he’s pretty interesting. His life is like waves, just—wave after wave.
And with that, he started searching for related articles and reading them aloud.
Then he found my videos on YouTube and started playing them.
‘Oh… why are you digging that up?’
The column an old journalist had written: “The Amateur Who Catches Professionals, Kim In-ha. Let Us Speak of Him.”
And even that video uploaded to Ciel Bank’s channel: “After Work, He Dreams of Becoming a Professional Baduk Player.”
I couldn’t bring myself to listen. I turned the volume down.
More like I nearly switched it off entirely.
The interviews and articles I can handle, but that video—no matter how many times I watch it, I never get used to it.
It’s so embarrassing and mortifying that I want to kick off my blanket and flee.
“…Come on, really, stop doing this.”
I turned my gaze away from the radio, toward the window.
Why is that?
My face is burning, but somehow I’m smiling.
A kind of silly smile.
I’m starting to realize that I’ve actually become famous.
At this point, shouldn’t I just lean into it and enjoy myself?
The traffic light turned green. I braked and brought the car to a stop.
That’s when.
A banner hanging across the intersection ahead caught my eye.
-The 5th Nam District Tteokbokki Festival: “Take a Bite and Dash!”
“Tteokbokki… a festival?”
My head turned of its own accord.
Inside the car, stopped at the light.
Below the banner, smaller text caught my attention.
[Vendor Recruitment Notice. Inquiries: 010-4424-****]
Just one line. A short sentence.
But in that instant, something exploded in my head.
It wasn’t mere curiosity. It wasn’t a whim.
If In-ha Bunsik was going to survive against a major franchise chain, didn’t we need to do whatever it took to stay competitive in the neighborhood market?
My mother’s taste.
And something else—something necessary to survive.
A chance to prepare for it.
‘Recruitment closes tomorrow.’
The timing was too perfect to let slip past.
Heat rose in my chest.
My mind calculated rapidly. My heart had already begun to race.
This wasn’t just a festival.
My mother’s touch.
In-ha Bunsik.
I could feel it instinctively—an opportunity to protect all of that had arrived.
I made my decision.
And I called my mother right away.
“Hello? Yes, Mom. It’s nothing urgent… I just wanted to tell you something.”
Three weeks remained until the semifinals.
During this time, I had to get In-ha Bunsik off the ground—fast.

* * *
“Kim, congratulations. You made it to the semifinals, right?”
“The articles were crazy. Can we take a photo together later?”
“You turned pro? What’s this—a professional Go player at our bank?”
The moment I arrived at work, employees came over on their own to offer congratulations.
These were people who would have barely acknowledged me before—just a nod and moving on.
But now it was different.
Now they approached me first, struck up conversations, cracked jokes, took photos together, and drifted away naturally.
‘It really has changed.’
When I’d made it to the main tournament, it wasn’t like this. Some had still dismissed it as luck.
But the semifinals and professional registration—
these two things had shifted how people saw me.
Not a bank security guard to be dismissed and looked down on, but a professional Go player deserving of respect.
The weight they assigned me in their eyes had changed.
Of course, not everyone.
‘Those two are still the same.’
Ha and Park.
Still that uncomfortable look in their eyes.
Unable to acknowledge me, unwilling to speak, their discomfort written plainly across their faces.
“Oh my. Look who it is. Our Kim!”
A warm voice.
The Branch Manager.
His gaze toward me dripped with honey, and so did his words.
“Our Kim made it pro! No, that’s not quite it—he’s aiming for the semifinals of a world tournament. What skills!”
“Please… keep your voice down a bit…”
I said it quietly, but it made no difference.
“How can you say that? This is no ordinary thing! This is the pride of Korea. Kim—no, Pro Kim—you’re a national treasure. Ha-ha.”
‘Oh…’
National treasure, huh.
How could she say something like that so matter-of-factly.
I was so embarrassed my limbs curled up—but only for a moment.
“Snrk.”
Yeon-hee, passing by, couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh.
“National…… treasure.”
Just those few words, drawn out.
My face flushed crimson at that.
Regardless, the Branch Manager continued with good humor.
“So, the semifinals are in three weeks?”
“Yes. I’m planning to compete in the Suyeon Cup Fair Baduk Championship in between.”
“Ah, you’re going with Yu Jeuh-ha, right?”
“Yes, that’s the plan.”
“Then just schedule your leave around that time. The main qualifying rounds have already been processed at headquarters, so don’t worry.”
I nodded quietly.
But my thoughts were elsewhere.
Yu Jeuh-ha.
Ever since the round of thirty-two match, she’d been strangely unreachable.
Calls went unanswered, and she wasn’t reading my messages or DMs.
‘……Is something wrong?’
Worry crept in unbidden.
I asked Park Jin-woo and Kim Min-ho, but neither of them knew anything.
This was the first time she’d ever done this.
Like a small spark, unease began to kindle, gnawing at my attention.
Soon after, the morning briefing began.
“Everyone. Our Kim has officially registered as a professional and become Master Kim. He’s also advanced to the semifinals, upholding our national prestige and our bank’s image. Let’s give him a round of applause.”
Clap, clap, clap.
Brief applause.
By now, I’d learned to take it in stride.
Whether I’d built up immunity or it had simply become natural, I couldn’t say.
I’d asked the Branch Manager separately to tone it down, but honestly, I hadn’t held much hope.
He had a stubborn streak when it came to things like this.
‘What…… I think I’m even starting to enjoy it myself now.’
At this point, it was almost resignation—or perhaps something closer to enlightenment.
The applause faded, and the Branch Manager moved on to business.
“As everyone knows, our performance this month has been sluggish. Having an older customer base isn’t an excuse. Make your numbers. Working late to get home shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”
His tone was cold.
Demanding overtime.
So frigid that it felt like you wouldn’t draw a drop of blood if you pricked it.
‘This is the Branch Manager’s real face, isn’t it.’
He was endlessly warm and kind to me.
But when squeezing staff for numbers, he was practically coldhearted.
At times like this, I was almost grateful I wasn’t a bank employee.
The briefing ended, and staff dispersed with heavy expressions.
Yeon-hee was no exception.
As she walked back to her desk, her face was laden with worry.
Just then,
“Hey, Kim.”
I turned to find Ha smiling awkwardly.
An unnatural smile, obvious to anyone.
“……I saw the article. Impressive stuff. I didn’t know you played Baduk that well.”
“Thank you.”
I offered only a formal greeting.
“You must’ve raked in some serious prize money, and you got paid for the model work too…… Did you put that money in your account?”
“Yes.”
Thirty million won from winning the Biryong Tournament.
Fifteen million more from three shoots as a model.
The prize for advancing to the semifinals at Ciel Bank and the brand content incentive still hadn’t been settled, yet
nearly fifty million won was already registered in my account.
‘If only a talent for financial management would show up now.’
Ha spoke up quietly.
“…You understand, Kim, but inflation’s been brutal lately, right? That money just sitting there loses value fast. Especially with a lump sum like that—you have to put it to work. Invest it, make it generate returns. Just leaving it in the account is a waste.”
I listened without responding.
“An ETF product launched a few days ago. Good entry terms, easy to withdraw from. Not that I’m trying to mislead you or anything, but it’s a solid product from your perspective too.”
There it was—his real intention laid bare.
Performance metrics. That’s what this was about.
No apology for how he’d treated me before, just some honeyed words to secure his sales numbers.
When my response came across as lukewarm, Ha exchanged glances and added quickly.
“No pressure or anything. Just thought you might be interested…”
“I appreciate the offer, Ha, but—”
I cut him off cleanly.
“I already have someone in mind for this.”
“What?”
Park, standing nearby, jumped in.
“…Who?”
His eyes gleamed—shameless, full of expectation.
These people really had no sense of shame.
Instead of answering, I looked over at Yeon-hee, who was seated at the counter.
“A junior from university.”
Ha’s expression went rigid.
“Wait… Yeon-hee? You two knew each other?”
“Does it matter?”
“Well… no, I suppose not…”
I turned away and let the sentence fade.
“I’ve found that investing with someone you can actually trust works best.”
Ha and Park had nothing to say.
They looked stunned, as if they’d been struck.
I savored that expression as I headed straight for Yeon-hee’s counter.
“Excuse me.”
I smiled slightly as I approached.
“Could you help me with opening a savings account and signing up for an ETF product?”
Yeon-hee blinked, momentarily dazed, then broke into a bright smile.
“Of course! Let me help you right away.”
Light began to shine in Yeon-hee’s face.
The shadow that had clouded her expression moments before gradually gave way to life.
“Thank you, senior. But… you’re not pushing yourself, are you?”
Yeon-hee’s voice dropped slightly.
“Helping out a junior—what’s the problem with that?”
“You’re right.”
Yeon-hee seemed to relax at last.
“Then let’s start with the savings account…”
“Oh, wait a moment.”
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
Jung Soo-yeon on the screen.
I excused myself to Yeon-hee and took the call.
“Yes, Team Lead. Now? Understood. I’ll see you then.”
After I hung up, Yeon-hee, who’d been watching, asked carefully.
“Is something wrong?”
“She’s coming now.”
“Who?”
“Team Lead Jung.”
Yeon-hee studied me intently.
She didn’t ask directly, but her eyes brimmed with curiosity.
“Is it another shoot?”
“No.”
I shook my head.
To be honest, I was caught off guard myself.
“This time it’s a commercial. A main Ciel Bank commercial shoot, and she’s coming to coordinate the schedule.”
Yeon-hee’s mouth fell slightly open.
“Wow…”

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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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