I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 70

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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 Profitable Talents 070
Whirrrr whirrrr whirrrr.
The rim began spinning at high speed.
But soon the roulette’s relentless rotation gradually slowed.
Among the slots marked with question marks, one aligned with the 12 o’clock position.
Gulp.
I swallowed without thinking.
Excitement and anticipation flooded in at once.
‘At least an S-rank talent.’
The way Baduk had flipped my life upside down.
Something that would shake my existence once more was now revealing itself before me.
The question marks faded away dimly.
And the letters that filled that space.
[Talent: Archery (S)]
“Arch……ery?”
For a moment, my mind went blank.
It felt like I’d been struck hard by someone.
The Baduk talent had been shocking too, but this was on another level entirely.
Archery, of all things.
This was…… a result I’d never even imagined.
There being no context, I wondered if that was exactly when the word ‘context’ was meant to apply.
I stared blankly at the system window, my heart beating slowly and deliberately.
[System is updating talent ‘Archery’.]
A familiar phrase.
But what came next was not.
Like being electrocuted, a sensation forced its way through my entire body.
‘Different from Baduk.’
That time it had felt like waves of knowledge crashing in, like inner strength accumulating.
It was like terminology and rules, intuition and Move Reading and judgment ability settling into place.
But this time was different.
From my fingertips.
From my toes.
From the crown of my head down along my spine.
Every sense and nerve in my body stood on edge, tingling as it awakened.
And simultaneously, the rules and terminology of Archery, all the foundational knowledge, etched itself into me.
The mechanics of Archery’s Shooting seeped into me without any sense of discord.
[Talent ‘Archery’ has completed its update.]
[You have not met the maintenance condition for this talent.]
[This talent does not meet the Primary Career Condition. It can only be used as a Side Job.]
[This talent can earn bonus points depending on the performance of your Primary Career ‘Professional Baduk Player’.]
[Your current talents are: Archery (S), Baduk (A+), Korean Cuisine (B), Chinese (B).]
I took a deep breath.
Everything had changed.
My body’s senses responded acutely.
My skin opened, my ears sharpened.
I could feel the faintest currents of air brushing against my skin.
‘Incredible.’
A physical sensation I could never have experienced in Baduk, that mind sport.
I was bewildered and disoriented, but my adaptation was swift.
No—my body had already known this.
A sensation already embodied.
It felt natural.
Familiar and instinctive, as if I’d done it my whole life.
I extended my left arm and mimed drawing a bow.
“I…… know how to do Archery?”
The question marks that had filled my mind vanished.
The sensation of the bowstring catching at my fingertips.
Anchoring and Release.
Twang.
The phantom arrow that left my hand buried itself in the distant target.
It was an absurd situation, yet I couldn’t help laughing.
A new talent.
A new path.
The pleasant tremor made my lips curl upward unbidden.
This time.
“……Since I’m already late, shall we climb up and see?”

* * *
Korea Baduk Association.
The main studio on the first floor.
A photo wall emblazoned with the Korea Baduk Association logo.
Countless tournaments held here, decades of Korean Baduk history quietly accumulated in this space.
Today, I was the star.
Click.
The flash burst bright, shutters snapping in rapid succession.
The president of the Korea Baduk Association and the executive director stood on either side of me.
Professional Promotion.
A scene I’d imagined dozens of times.
The Certification Certificate in my hands.
Two characters engraved upon it in classical script.
‘Yeopshin Kim In-ha.’
It meant reaching the realm of the divine.
An alias passed down through the long tradition of the Baduk world.
A name symbolizing respect and skill.
That title before my name no longer felt strange.
It was weighty, yet not undeserved.
‘……Just right.’
There was no reason to shrink, no reason to be crushed beneath it.
I had already endured, already achieved.
Kim In-ha, Professional 9-dan Baduk Player.
The descriptor following my name meant exactly that.
After the commemorative photos, handshakes followed.
“Congratulations. I’m looking forward to working with you going forward.”
“Thank you.”
The president patted my shoulder twice, then left the studio first.
He rarely attended Professional Promotions or rank advancement ceremonies, I’d been told.
But because I’d become such a central figure in the headlines, he’d made time despite the difficulty.
Executive Director Lee Sang-woo said this with a smile.
“Shall we head upstairs for a moment and chat?”
“Of course.”
We took the elevator to the third floor and moved to the game room.
It was where my previous interview had taken place.
“……Promotion to 9-dan simultaneous with Professional Promotion. I’ve worked at the Korea Baduk Association for over twenty years, yet you’ve achieved something that will go down in history.”
I let out a small laugh.
“This is only the beginning.”
“Ha. Present tense, as they say. I do admire that confidence of yours.”
We continued our conversation over tea brought by a Korea Baduk Association staff member.
“Going forward, we’ll have staff separately guide you through tournament schedules, Ranking Matches, National Team Selection Tournaments, and related events.”
“Thank you.”
“And there’s an end-of-year awards ceremony planned as well. You’re one of the likely recipients this year, so I’d greatly appreciate your attendance.”
I nodded quietly.
He, reading my demeanor, carefully added something more.
“This isn’t confirmed yet, but we’re considering holding an exhibition match on New Year’s Day.”
“An exhibition match?”
“It’s still in the discussion stage, but it looks like we’ll have some significant sponsorship. However, it seems that side really wants you to participate.”
“Me?”
“Yes. And……”
Executive Director Lee Sang-woo paused for a moment, then continued.
“They’re requesting Monochrome Baduk.”
My eyes widened despite myself.
“It’s Baduk where the stone color is unified. Without distinguishing between black and white, you compete using only Move Reading. It’s good for promoting Baduk and carries symbolic meaning too.”
“……Well, that’s not bad.”
I answered quietly, yet positively.
A format entirely different from ordinary matches.
The Go board covered in monochrome stones.
The struggle that would unfold upon it.
‘This could be interesting.’
Most importantly, it seemed like a good event for promoting and sustaining Baduk’s waning popularity and draw.
He smiled faintly as he observed my reaction.
“I’m glad it appeals to you. I thought you’d surely enjoy it.”
“Is the opponent decided?”
“It’s not confirmed yet, but…… we’re coordinating with O Soo, 9-dan.”
“O Soo?”
A living legend.
The Baduk world’s singular Yeopshin.
The only player to defeat AI, first and last.
Countless records and renown that no one has surpassed.
‘I want to face him.’
The mere fact that I could play against him set my cooled heart ablaze, slowly and deliberately.
A challenge against a legend.
Even if it’s an exhibition match.
An emotion both clear and simple, yet most intense, stirred within me.
Secretary General Lee Sang-woo asked me carefully.
“……Are you burdened, given who the opponent is?”
“No.”
I shook my head quickly.
Burden?
There was no reason to feel it.
A dark smile settled on my lips.
“I’m more excited.”

* * *
The Indoor Archery Range.
Recently, it’s spreading rapidly, centered on the MZ generation.
A novel sport.
The exotic appeal of shooting a bow.
A dating venue, a group activity.
Like billiards or bowling in the old days, equipment rental was available, keeping the barrier to entry low.
Families bringing children to experience it was a common sight.
‘……S-rank talent really is different.’
When I first acquired the talent for Baduk, I had to search and learn everything from scratch.
I knew nothing beyond the act of playing Baduk itself.
Not my skill level, not the tournaments or regulations, not even how professional promotion worked.
I was satisfied merely by participating in amateur Baduk tournaments and receiving prize money.
‘Why was I like that back then.’
A laugh escaped me unbidden.
Looking back, I’d been rather foolish.
All I needed was to enter a domestic professional tournament that allowed amateur participation.
But I’d taken the long way around.
‘……Still, I enjoyed it.’
Do I regret it?
Not at all.
The feeling of climbing up from the bottom, step by step.
The time spent gradually discovering a new world.
Because of those days, I am who I am now, and my story could be completed.
But this time was different.
All the necessary knowledge was already embedded in my mind.
Equipment types, shooting mechanics, tournament regulations and specifications, even the overall flow of the Archery world.
‘I just need to confirm it.’
So I came to this Indoor Archery Range.
It was conveniently close to the Korea Baduk Association.
There was no better place to test this talent right now.
Creak.
The Indoor Archery Range bustled with people the moment I stepped inside.
Couples on dates.
Hobby clubs.
Beginners gripping bows with awkward hands.
Seasoned archers aiming at targets with polished form.
And recurve bows hung along the wall.
Gleaming carbon arrows.
A long row of targets stretching into the distance.
The same awe and thrill I’d felt when I first visited the Korea Baduk Association washed over me.
Thunk.
Watching an arrow someone had shot bury itself deep in a target, my fingertips responded unbidden.
“Did you come alone?”
The owner approached.
Short hair, sturdy shoulders—at first glance, clearly a competitive archer.
I answered briefly.
“Yes.”
He looked me over.
My body.
My clothes.
Empty hands with no equipment whatsoever.
Anyone would’ve taken me for an unprepared beginner.
“First time?”
I hesitated for a moment before answering.
It was my first time, but then again, it wasn’t.
I was about to say no when he smiled and spoke first.
“Come this way, and I’ll explain everything.”
He was kind.
I’d missed my window to correct him, so I let it go.
He explained the equipment rental and demonstrated how to put on an arm guard.
“This is a recurve bow, set up for beginners. The arrows are carbon shafts. The guard goes on this arm here.”
He clearly had plenty of experience with people encountering archery for the first time.
He calmly explained everything from basic stance to how to draw and hold the bow, to reference points.
Then.
Arrows burst from the lanes beside us.
Thunk.
The sound of an arrow leaving the string and striking the target.
My already quickened heartbeat accelerated beyond my control at that sound.
“Uh, you’re listening, right?”
I’d been distracted for a moment, so I turned my head back.
“The explanation isn’t really necessary.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I just want to feel it out.”
He stared at me with a bewildered expression.
“……Feel it out?”
Without saying more, I scanned the interior of the Indoor Archery Range.
Twelve shooting stations arranged in a line.
The section at the far end, two rows over.
International standard: eighteen meters.
The same distance the hobby club members were using.
“Can I shoot from over there?”
“Pardon?”
The startled owner’s eyes flicked to my palms for a moment.
Taking my measure.
After confirming there were no calluses, he replied with a slight grimace.
“Well, I suppose it’s fine, but… beginners usually have trouble even hitting the target.”
“That’s all right.”
“If you say so. That’ll be ten thousand won for thirty arrows.”
I nodded and walked toward Station 12.
I took my place on the line.
First breath.
First sensation.
First awakening of talent.
Familiar, yet thrilling.
It was like being transported back to that day when I first encountered online Baduk—that exact rush returning.
I extended my left arm and locked the bow into position.
Grip.
Opening my palm slightly to relax, the bow settled into neutral on its own.
I drew the bowstring back to full setup position.
The moment it touched the line beneath my jaw, a snap of alignment locked in.
The same familiar sensation as placing a stone on the Baduk board.
The equipment didn’t fit my hands perfectly, but it was enough to find my rhythm.
First shot.
Snap!
The arrow flew.
Thud.
It struck the target.
Nine points.
Slightly off center.
‘My body balance is off.’
The talent itself was flawless.
But my body hadn’t caught up yet.
I nocked another arrow.
I steadied my breathing.
‘Accounting for my body’s condition……’
I traced the trajectory in my mind.
The parabola the arrow would draw.
My arms, shoulders, eyes, breath—every sense aligned into one.
Thud!
The moment I released, the arrow embedded itself in the target.
Ten points.
But it kissed the line.
Not dead center.
‘Not enough.’
I wasn’t satisfied.
This was an indoor archery range.
Regulation setup or not, it was only eighteen meters.
No wind.
I took a deep breath and drew the string back again, anchoring it to my facial reference point.
Release.
Thud!
The arrow flew and struck the very center of the target, embedding itself in the small yellow circle at the heart of the scoring zone.
“……!”
I felt their stares. I heard them whispering—Look at that.
‘With this feeling.’
I fitted the nock of the arrow onto the string.
The precise click of the nocking point engaging.
Exact.
Steady.
The murmur and eyes of the watchers seemed to fade away.
Even my breath.
Even my heartbeat.
Even time itself seemed suspended in that moment.
I released the taut string.
Snap!
The arrow launched.
Straight toward the arrow already embedded in the target’s center.
Tracing a beautiful arc.
The tip of that arrow burrowed straight through the carbon shaft.
Crack.
A metallic, splintering sound echoed through the indoor range.
The arrow, split in two.
The shaft shattered into fragments.
I exhaled slowly.
“That’s excellent.”
The Robin Hood Shot.
Also known as splitting an arrow.
……Four shots were all it took to confirm my S-grade Talent for Archery.

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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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