I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 63

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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 Much Talent That Pays Episode 063
The studio buzzed with unease.
Moon Ga-yeon, the Baduk TV caster, and Song Tae-gyu, the 9-dan commentator, couldn’t hide their alarm.
“Has something like this ever happened before, Commentator?”
Moon Ga-yeon asked carefully.
“I’ve been a professional for twenty-four years now, but this is the first time I’ve encountered such a situation in the World Championship Main Rounds.”
“I hope it’s nothing serious with Jung Si-hu.”
Both wore expressions of genuine concern.
Most of my fellow professionals, the fans, and I felt the same way.
‘What could have happened?’
In the Preliminary Tournament, it wasn’t uncommon to arrive just before a match.
But the Main Rounds were different.
The convention was to arrive two hours early at best, one hour at minimum.
To acclimate to the venue atmosphere, to handle the pre-match interview, and to prepare for any unforeseen circumstances.
The fact that he still hadn’t arrived suggested something was amiss—nothing routine.
Then it came.
Moon Ga-yeon, sitting at the commentary desk, was shown receiving information from someone.
“Ah… we’ve just received word.”
She paused to gather herself, then delivered the news with care.
“Jung Si-hu is reported to have been in a traffic accident while traveling. Fractures have been confirmed, but fortunately there is no threat to his life.”
“Thank goodness. Go is important, but a person’s life comes first.”
Song Tae-gyu exhaled with relief.
Moon Ga-yeon added cautiously.
“Jung Si-hu has expressed his will to compete and is on his way to the Match Hall, but… it seems unlikely he can make it in time, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. According to the regulations, if he fails to take his seat within the prescribed time, he will be immediately disqualified. There have been rare cases in the past where players were disqualified for timekeeping errors or delays.”
Song Tae-gyu’s expression darkened.
Silence followed.
Moon Ga-yeon, having received the organizers’ final decision, summed up the situation with regret.
“Unfortunately, Jung Si-hu has been disqualified due to his late arrival. Lu Queran advances to the finals with a walkover victory.”
The broadcast cut back to the studio, showing Lu Queran with the Go board before him.
His face expressionless as he gazed down at the board.
I held that image in my mind for a long time.
“Tomorrow, we will bring you the first game of the Ciel Bank Cup final between Lu Queran and Kim In-ha. This is Moon Ga-yeon, caster, and Song Tae-gyu, commentator. Thank you for watching.”
The broadcast ended and advertisements began to play.
I leaned back in my chair and drew a quiet breath.
“I really wanted to face him.”
The world’s most flawless player.
Overwhelmingly ranked first on the World Baduk Ranking.
I wanted to test myself against him.
On the stage of the World Championship itself.
For it to end like this, so anticlimactically, left a bitter taste.
“… There will be another chance.”
My opponent now is Lu Queran.
Second on the World Baduk Ranking.
A top-tier player showing excellent form recently, playing the closest thing to AI Go.
An opponent more than adequate.
In fact, given the timing of my professional promotion, perhaps more than I deserved.
And yet.
“Why does this feel so unsettling?”
I turned my attention to the laptop I’d brought from home as I gathered my thoughts.
For analyzing game records with DeepStone.
A streaming recommendation banner for Jang Yu-na appeared in my field of vision.
I accessed the stream for a brief mental break.
The moment I did.
Jang Yu-na, barely containing her excitement, launched into an passionate speech.
[Everyone, no matter who the opponent is, don’t worry for a second. Do you know who Nameless is? This person never loses. Can you even imagine him losing to Lu Queran? All of you doubters should leave now. Still here? Do you want to get banned?]
“… Yu-na, please, compose yourself.”
I let out a laugh despite my bewilderment.
I knew she’d become my partisan commentator, but I hadn’t expected it to be this intense.
Regardless, Jang Yu-na’s unfiltered remarks poured forth relentlessly.
[Lu Queran 9-dan left his seat thirteen times at a Chinese tournament recently. Thirteen times! The studio has signal blockers and metal detectors at the entrance, of course…… but the restroom is different, isn’t it? Am I the only one who suspects something?]
“……Cheating.”
I murmured the word low.
AI cheating, as they called it.
Leaving your seat at a critical moment, then checking the board through external equipment.
Suspicions surrounding Lu Queran 9-dan had been circulating endlessly in domestic Go broadcasting circles and online communities.
Every time he returned after leaving his seat, he showed a hundred percent match with the Blue Spot moves.
Park himself had even said the situation looked suspicious.
Of course, there was no physical evidence.
Only circumstantial evidence remained.
But.
‘I need to be prepared.’
Just then, the chat window erupted again.
-Wait? Nameless just logged in?
-Really? It’s Nameless!
-Ohhh. How long has it been since we’ve seen you?
Fervent cheers filled the chat.
Jang Yu-na, 2-dan, noticed the messages and cried out loudly.
[Really? Nameless, where are you! If you see this, please say something in the chat. It’s been so long. You didn’t forget us, did you? We’ve missed you!]
I couldn’t help but smile.
How could I forget?
Nameless was…… part of Kim In-ha.
I placed my hands on the keyboard and typed.
Mumyeong : Thank you for your support. Until the day I lose, I will not be defeated.
I left that message and clicked ‘logout’.
The hotel room fell silent.
All sound seemed to vanish into a profound quiet.
That message I’d just left wasn’t merely words.
It was a vow I’d made to myself, a declaration of will toward victory.
I drew a slow breath and lifted the corners of my mouth into a smile.
“……Cheating? If he can manage it, let him try.”
That’s right.
If it’s possible, that is.
I was already preparing for the worst.

* * *
Morning arrived.
Sunlight filtered softly through the hotel room window.
The hotel bed felt more comfortable now than the bed in my old room ever had.
My body had grown accustomed to it.
I had a light breakfast and returned to the hotel room for a shower.
Checking my smartphone, I found dozens of messages of support waiting.
From my mother, father, Yeon-hee, Ho-jun, Hyeon-do, and others…….
I smiled faintly.
Each person’s concern and expectations came through clearly in every message.
I put on the shirt and trousers I always wore and stood before the mirror.
A calm tension.
A pleasant tremor.
After composing both body and mind, I headed down to the lobby on the first floor.
As I stepped out of the elevator, a throng of reporters waiting there rushed toward me all at once.
Following a staff member’s guidance, I took my place at the Photo Wall.
Camera flashes erupted without pause.
The host approached as if he’d been waiting and extended a microphone.
“Kim In-ha, how is your condition today?”
“I can’t remember feeling this good before.”
I answered with ease.
“You’re always so confident. What are your feelings about reaching the finals of the World Baduk Championship Ciel Bank Cup as an amateur?”
“……I’m grateful that I climbed so quickly, considering how late I started.”
Pride swelled within me.
I had started late, but I had risen to this place faster than anyone else.
At first I relied only on talent, but now I’m perfecting my game through evolution.
The reporters’ questions came in succession.
“Lu Queran’s AI Accuracy Rate as a 9-dan is world-class. Do you have any countermeasures?”
I smiled meaningfully.
“Yes, I do.”
A reporter asked with eager anticipation in her voice.
“Could you tell us specifically what strategy you’re planning?”
“You’ll see when we play.”
Brief, but brimming with certainty.
I let my smile answer instead, offering no further explanation.
A Chinese reporter took the microphone next.
“Some are saying that Kim In-ha’s tournament seeding has been fortunate, allowing him to reach the finals. How do you respond to that?”
I watched the reporter quietly.
No interpretation was necessary.
His Chinese came through to my ears unfiltered.
‘Interesting.’
Not all of it was wrong.
It was true that Jung Si-hu and Lu Queran, along with many in the top ten of the World Baduk Ranking, had been seeded on the opposite side of the bracket.
Kim Eun-woo, the only one ranked eighth in the World Baduk Ranking, had been upset by Woo Shaowu, ranked twenty-first, and eliminated.
Perhaps that was why.
I wasn’t offended.
Rather, I felt calm.
The facts were the facts, after all.
But.
I answered with thorns hidden beneath gentleness.
“Isn’t that statement disparaging Chinese players who, despite having favorable seeding, failed to capitalize on their opportunities?”
When the translation finished, the Chinese reporter’s face flushed red.
His momentum broken by my counterattack.
I added one final remark.
“Fortune is a skill as well.”
The domestic reporters’ faces lit up with subtle exhilaration, while the Chinese reporters’ faces betrayed barely suppressed anger.
Several raised their hands sharply.
Eager to seize on any opening, to strike back however they could.
I smiled quietly, returned the microphone to the moderator, and gestured that I would take no further questions.
The flustered moderator quickly brought the situation to a close.
“Thank you, Kim In-ha. We’ll see you in the finals!”
I bowed briefly and stepped away from the Photo Wall.
Leaving the reporters’ gazes behind, I walked slowly toward the Match Hall.
“We’ll conduct an electronic device inspection.”
I spread my arms wide and cooperated with the security check.
After confirming there were no issues, I was cleared to enter.
Inside the Studio.
Ahead of me stood a stage decorated more ornately and elegantly than the semifinals—it caught my eye.
A Go Board laid out with perfect precision.
The seats for Black and White positioned before it.
I sat quietly in my designated chair.
I steadied my breath, drawing up my concentration……
A man in a black suit appeared in the Studio.
Lu Queran, 9-dan.
Facing him for the first time since the drawing ceremony, he passed by me with an expressionless face and sat across from me.
……
Our eyes met, but there was no greeting.
Only a quiet, suffocating tension hung in the air.
‘……So he truly shows no emotion.’
He maintained a poker face regardless of victory or defeat, I’d heard.
That was why his Go was said to fit so well with AI.
Regardless.
‘I’m the one who’ll win.’
No matter who my opponent is, I have no intention of losing.
The camera lights came on, and the match official gave the signal to begin.
Snap.
The stones were covered.
White was Lu Queran, 9-dan.
Black was me.
We bowed quietly to each other.
The match began.
Click.
I placed my first stone on the board.
Upper-right Komoku.
He responded with the lower-right Hoshi.
‘Komoku again.’
I played the upper-left Komoku.
White took the lower-left Komoku.
Three Komoku corners and one Hoshi point.
Click.
I reinforced the upper-left Komoku with a two-space extension.
Good balance.
Ceding the opening advantage, but aiming to secure broad territory.
White moved as well.
A hook.
I responded with the Garlic-shaped Move.
The two-space extension was meant to pressure my upper-left corner.
Followed by a 3-3 Invasion.
He was building influence toward the upper edge, drawing me to extend on the right.
Click.
I answered accordingly.
White secured the lower-right Komoku with a high position, balancing the territory.
Click.
I expanded broadly on the left side.
Building influence with the high two-space extension from the upper-left and both wings spread wide.
‘Come in.’
I was inviting him to invade.
And then.
Click.
Lu Queran, 9-dan, boldly dove into my territory.
I capped him immediately, launching into the attack as though I’d been waiting for this.
White clipped at the Komoku, testing my response.
A probe.
Meant to thrash about within my influence.
‘…… Play well. Don’t leave any gaps.’
Though it was still the opening, every move fell on the Blue Spot—precise to the point of perfection.
World-class caliber.
There was no doubt.
‘I’ll seize the initiative.’
Aggressive fighting from the start.
This was the shape I’d envisioned.
From the choice of Joseki to every detailed variation, the flow we’d prepared together with Park at the research group.
So I advanced without hesitation, more boldly still.
White built territory around the 2-line, while Black constructed a thick exterior framework.
Black and White stones entangled in the Sente-Gote struggle, flowing naturally into the middle game.
Exactly the direction I’d intended.
But then.
“……!”
Lu Queran, 9-dan, rose quietly from his seat.
‘He’s leaving now?’
Timing I hadn’t anticipated at all.
Did he judge the next move so crucial that he needed to step away?
‘…… Stay composed.’
I drew a short, measured breath.
Calmly, I looked down at the board.
Fortunately, this sequence still lay within the scope of my preparation.
White’s next move would have to play close to this general area—there was no room for a major deviation.
There was no reason to hesitate.
Click.
I placed a stone on the move I’d already read ahead.
Then I pushed my chair back and stood.
According to tournament regulations, I couldn’t leave my seat during my turn to play.
But the turn had passed to my opponent now.
‘……I won’t let him out of my sight.’
A precaution against any possible cheating.
I tracked Lu Queran’s back as he left the Studio, my eyes following the ninth-dan master out.
And then.
Slowly.
Quietly.
……I followed behind him.

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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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