I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 62

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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 62
Clack.
A stone was placed.
I sensed Black’s impatience in the move.
‘This won’t do—I can’t let it slide.’
Momentum is always just a foundation.
When your opponent shows a weakness, ignoring it is weakness itself.
Clack.
The first counterattack.
A squeeze.
Wu Xiaowei, 9-dan, immediately seized a stone and cut sharply.
It looked as though he were forcing a fight open, even risking his stone being severed.
‘……But that’s not really his intent, is it?’
I smiled inwardly.
He was forcing a struggle, but I caught the hidden move concealed within it.
If I extend, Black will attempt to save the stones on the lower edge.
Normally one would cut off the tail and break through the center, but he knows that surrenders the board state.
Most of all.
‘There’s a move that saves this seemingly precarious Black position.’
A subtle technique on the first line.
If I hadn’t devoted ample time to carefully reading the position, I would have missed it.
Wu Xiaowei, 9-dan, must have seen that move.
‘Indeed—he plays well.’
A world-class professional doesn’t crumble easily.
Not without resistance.
He challenges endlessly, twists the position, and shakes the board seeking initiative.
‘The problem is, I saw that move too.’
Clack.
I withdrew my hand and shifted the game elsewhere.
A strategic arrangement for the middle and late phases.
Wu Xiaowei, 9-dan, hesitated before responding to my stone.
He must have judged that with material disadvantage, any concession here meant no chance of victory.
From that exchange, my strength in the center grew marginally thicker.
‘Done.’
I placed another stone where my hand had rested.
A quiet extension.
As if waiting for precisely this, Wu Xiaowei, 9-dan, connected along the lower edge in search of life.
I too cut my stones in the center.
Bent on destroying my territory and saving his own, his moves accelerated.
He seemed to sense a chance for reversal.
‘Give what must be given.’
Yet I remained composed.
It was fine to let him live.
I could rebuild territory of equal value elsewhere.
Where?
‘The center.’
Clack.
A clean, decisive move.
While Black clawed for life on the edge, I erected a framework in the center.
Even amid the rough exchanges, the shape remained elegant.
Black gained eight points of territory, while I obtained thickness worth eight points of value.
Wu Xiaowei’s jaw tightened.
He had gained advantage, but the board state would not close.
He bit his lip and seized a stone, tapping it against the center of the board.
……Three times, four times, probing weaknesses and searching for gaps.
But I did not waver.
Quietly blocking, defending, building.
Against that solidity, Black could not burrow deep.
At last, Black chose to withdraw.
As he did, the empty space remaining on the board had nearly vanished.
Endgame.
Wu Xiaowei’s last chance to orchestrate a comeback.
But he wasn’t a player who excelled at endgames.
Whereas I.
‘I have an advantage in endgames.’
A fact already proven in our earlier matches.
And on top of that, precise Position Evaluation.
Wu Xiaowei’s final struggle never materialized into a reversal.
‘Two and a half points.’
Exactly that margin.
A gap so wide that even counting wouldn’t be necessary.
And so Wu Xiaowei reached for the stone container.
Click.
He set the stone on the table and declared his resignation.
“…….”
Wu Xiaowei sat half in a daze.
His face hadn’t yet accepted the fact of his defeat.
He’d pressed forward the entire time, rattled me, worn me down.
And still, he lost.
The attending official confirmed the result and stepped back.
Wu Xiaowei rose slowly from his chair, as if waking from a trance.
“Excuse me.”
Chinese.
He hesitated for a moment.
He turned his head to look at my face.
He must have already known I could speak Chinese.
But.
In this moment, right after his defeat, the words coming from my mouth sounded different.
“You’ve just become another Professional who got lucky winning at Go.”
“What?”
Wu Xiaowei’s expression hardened.
His eyes flickered only briefly before steadying.
His face flushed red—as if he might strike me at any second.
My words had sounded insulting.
But I met his gaze unflinching.
I didn’t flinch.
My eyes were asking him a question.
Did he really not remember?
‘Undefeated, right. Beat a few Amateurs and lucky wins against some Professionals, and you’re so proud.’
The evening before the semifinals.
The restaurant where I’d taken my parents.
The words he’d tossed out mockingly then.
I remembered them clearly, vividly.
Then.
Wu Xiaowei’s lips trembled.
“You… could it be……”
As the memory belatedly surfaced, his expression twisted.
I thought that was enough.
I bowed my head slightly.
“You played well.”
Korean.
He stood there with barely moving lips, glaring at me for a long moment before turning on his heel and leaving.
Only once he’d completely disappeared did it truly sink in—I’d won.
Then.
Ding!
A system Achievement window appeared before my eyes.
[Advanced to the Finals of the 30th Ciel Bank World Masters.]
Immediately after, another window appeared.
[You continue to achieve remarkable feats.]
[You have advanced to the Finals of the world competition ‘Ciel Bank World Masters’ as an Amateur.]
[Achievements will receive bonus rewards.]
[‘Platinum Roulette Ticket’ is automatically upgraded to ‘Diamond Roulette Ticket’.]
[‘Diamond Roulette Ticket’ can be claimed later as achievements accumulate. Will you receive it now? Yes or No]
‘This is it.’
I clenched my fist.
Just as I thought—it existed.
‘Something beyond the Diamond Roulette Ticket.’
If it hadn’t existed, there would be no phrase like ‘future achievements accumulate.’
It meant the system still had something more to give me.
‘So this means I’ve secured at least one A-rank Talent, right?’
I swallowed a laugh and reached out my hand.
No.
Not now.
An A-rank Talent is valuable, but having come this far, it feels wasteful to stop here.
I aim a little higher.
I push a little further.
Maybe an S-rank Talent will appear.
“Kim In-ha, could you come over for an interview?”
At the staff’s request, I nodded and rose from my chair.
I stepped out of the studio toward the photo wall.
Click.
Flashes erupting without pause.
Beyond the barrier, journalists.
They came from different countries and different press outlets. At a glance, there seemed to be more than before the match.
The moderator approached with a smile and held out the microphone.
“Congratulations on advancing to the finals, Kim In-ha. How are you feeling?”
I took a brief breath.
“Is there much else to say?”
Then I added calmly.
“I feel fantastic.”
I expressed the emotion I felt now plainly, just as it was.
The journalists laughed.
And flashes erupted again.
“Then let’s take some questions from the press.”
The moderator gestured and pointed to one of the journalists.
“After such a fierce match today, you claimed victory. When do you think the critical moment was?”
Eyes full of expectation.
Probably hoping for a sensational answer.
I paused to think, then smiled quietly.
“I don’t remember it clearly.”
“Surely there was no critical moment?”
“Hard to say. It could be either way.”
I left room in my answer to play along.
A small courtesy.
Even that was enough to satisfy the journalist, who nodded contentedly.
The moderator pointed to another journalist.
“Who would you hope to face in the finals?”
“Jung Si-hu, 9-dan.”
“Is that because he seems easier to face than Lu Queran, 9-dan?”
A question baiting for controversy.
Very blunt.
“No.”
But I didn’t take the bait.
The world’s most flawless player.
I answered carefully, infusing my words with respect and ambition for him.
“I want to test whether my Go can reach the world’s highest level.”

* * *
Tteokbokki Festival.
A local festival whose scale grows with each event.
The number of vendor booths had grown, and this year was expected to draw far more visitors than the last.
“Is this heaven? You know what they say—you can quit anything, but you can never quit tteokbokki.”
Moonges, a mukbang specialist YouTuber.
With 790,000 subscribers to her name, she’d come to the Tteokbokki Festival to film content.
True to form for a major creator, her camera crew moved diligently in her wake.
“What kind of tteokbokki is this? German-style curry tteokbokki? There are so many interesting varieties. Oh, look—deep-fried tteokbokki too. Should we go try some?”
Moonges kept up an endless patter of commentary, careful not to let the audio die.
She moved from booth to booth, sampling tteokbokki, gasping in delight, and giving enthusiastic thumbs-up.
“It’s so delicious. How do they manage such flavor with just tteokbokki?”
Her expression radiated genuine appreciation.
Her plates emptied with practiced efficiency.
But her true feelings were quite different.
‘Pedestrian. Nothing special really.’
She felt disappointment, but let nothing show.
That was what a professional did.
“Wait—what’s this? Ice Cream Tteokbokki?”
She hurried toward the booth with exaggerated interest.
As she drew near, a nutty cream fragrance drifted toward her.
“What is this unfamiliar aroma! I can’t possibly walk past this one. Let’s go.”
Moonges entered the booth and placed an order, then waited.
Moments later, her tteokbokki and Ramen Tteokbokki arrived.
Red yet soft in tone.
A hue and sheen somewhere between rosé and standard tteokbokki.
The nutty aroma brushing her nose made her mouth water.
“Let me just taste this. Oh my. What? This is seriously delicious. Let me have another bite.”
She took a big bite of tteokbokki and slurped down a mouthful of ramen noodles.
A genuine wince of delight crossed her face.
“Wow. This is seriously addictive. It’s so savory, with this umami flavor that just coats your mouth—my hand keeps reaching for more. Especially how perfectly it pairs with the noodles!”
She cleared her plate in moments and couldn’t help raising her hand high.
“Ma’am! Two more portions of tteokbokki and Ramen Tteokbokki, please! Oh, and fried dumplings too!”
Shortly after, a middle-aged woman proprietor emerged with a startled expression, setting down the plates.
“Young lady, how can you eat so much?”
“When it’s this good, how can I resist? By the way, your son’s name is In-ha, right?”
“How did you know that?”
The middle-aged proprietor looked taken aback.
“Inha Tteokbokki—anyone would guess your son’s name from that. You must love him very much?”
“Love him? Of course I do. That tteokbokki you’re eating right now—my boy developed that.”
Moonges’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Really? Is your son a chef?”
“No, no. My son is a professional Go player. A baduk champion!”
Pride rang unmistakably in her voice.
Moonges froze mid-fork.
‘Wait, I feel like I’ve heard that name before…’
As she searched her memory,
one of the staff members sitting across from her suddenly spoke up with startled recognition.
Moonges let out a sharp gasp.
“Ma’am!”
“Yes? Do you need more?”
The proprietor turned, asking with concern.
“Your son—his name is Kim In-ha, isn’t it?”
“You know him too?”
The proprietor beamed and began to chatter.
“These days I’m living for my boy, I tell you. Not just because he’s my child, but because he’s done so well—made it all the way to the finals of the world championship.”
As the delighted proprietor sang her son’s praises, Moonges sat in a daze.
‘Is this for real?’
The name on everyone’s lips right now.
More than that—the man dominating the Shorts and community best-post feeds everywhere.
Even the face of the Ciel Bank main commercial, appearing in YouTube ads across the platform.
‘If I play this right…’
She exchanged a meaningful glance with her crew.
They didn’t say it aloud, but they were thinking the same thing.
Kim In-ha.
Inha Tteokbokki.
Ice Cream Tteokbokki.
If he could just ride this wave properly…… the one million subscribers he’d always dreamed of.
It might actually happen.

* * *
Hotel Deluxe Room.
I was staring at my own image in the advertisement on the large screen, feeling oddly self-conscious.
—Invest in your future.
Me at the Go Board, addressing the camera.
And naturally, the Ciel Bank logo appearing in the lower right corner of the screen.
The whole thing had the air of a public service announcement.
I hugged a pillow and groaned.
“God, my hands and feet…….”
Nothing about my expression, tone, or voice came across naturally.
Yet Jung Soo-yeon and the cinematographer insisted it was “authentic” and “compelling.”
“……Still.”
I turned my head toward the window.
My mood wasn’t bad.
The view of Seoul sprawling beneath me.
My changed position.
My altered social standing.
And success.
There was an anxiety so sharp it felt like I might vanish if I closed my eyes and opened them again.
For now, this reality satisfied me.
“……Is Mom doing all right?”
Today was the first day of the Tteokbokki Festival.
I’d offered to help since I had no matches, but Mom was firm about it.
She’d handle her own work; I should focus on preparing for the finals.
I picked up my phone, then set it back down.
I was worried, but this time I decided to trust her. Trust Mom.
“It’s starting now, I guess.”
I turned my attention to the large television.
Jung Si-hu and Lu Queran, both 9-dan, in the semifinal.
Whoever won today would face me in tomorrow’s final.
“I hope Jung Si-hu makes it through…….”
I muttered it like an aside.
Lu Queran, 9-dan.
His Go had an unsettling quality to it. Or rather, “suspicious” was more accurate.
In any case.
Today’s winner would become my opponent in the final.
It was a match worth watching closely, both out of interest and for preparation purposes.
But.
Something felt off.
Long past the scheduled start time, and the match still hadn’t begun.
More precisely.
“……Jung Si-hu didn’t show up?”
The camera panned across the studio.
There sat Lu Queran alone, quietly holding his position.

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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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