I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 72

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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 Profitable Talent Episode 72
“Ugh, my shoulders.”
My arms, legs, and entire body ached as I gripped the steering wheel.
It was the result of pouring nearly all my time into training over the past few weeks.
Fortunately, there was a private specialized fitness studio not far away.
One run by an instructor who’d even obtained credentials as a community sports director and rehabilitation therapist.
The price was steep, but it was worth every won.
That sensation from the moment I first drew a bow.
The brief elasticity, the acuity cutting through stillness and flying through the air.
Feeling that, a thirst welled up inside me.
I wanted to perfect this talent, this sensation, as soon as possible.
Motivation boiling up from deep within my chest.
“…… Well, at least they said my athletic responsiveness is good.”
In technical terms, a High Responder.
I wondered if this too might be an effect of my talent.
Despite how little training I’d done compared to others selected.
Balance.
Flexibility.
Stability.
It wasn’t just that my muscles had grown—I could feel a genuine strengthening of my core.
Each movement, each posture felt firmly locked in place within my body.
Exactly the kind of body being built that archery needed—Compound archery specifically.
“The package arrived on time, too.”
Yesterday, the Bow and equipment I’d ordered came to the house.
Once I finished unboxing, an urge blazed through me to rush to the archery range and shoot immediately.
But I held back.
I verified the Bow and gear were undamaged, did only basic adjustments, and packed everything away again.
The heart of a Compound Bow is precise tuning.
Even a single millimeter of error isn’t tolerated.
In the end, setting it up now would serve no purpose.
The right approach was to monitor my body’s changes and tune it gradually.
“But…… apparently anyone can apply for the national team’s first selection trials.”
I was startled when I looked up the official documents.
There were no restrictions on who could enter the Compound event.
Once registered with the association, anyone could participate.
There wasn’t even a limit on entrants.
There was just one requirement: no history of school violence.
‘That doesn’t apply to me.’
The fact that it wasn’t an official Olympic event mattered a lot.
Of course, it was adopted as an official event at the next Olympics.
But the starting line was different from the Recurve event, which considered competition results and ranking points.
“That’s even better for me.”
It’s still a transitional period.
Still an unpopular event.
Actually, an opportunity.
The world was already moving, but domestically, things hadn’t even properly started.
‘This is when I need to strike and surge ahead.’

* * *
I drove and arrived at my destination.
A baduk café called Terra, located in Seocho District.
Along with the baduk café Mok Ryeon, it’s said to be the most famous in the country.
After parking in the nearby paid lot and heading out, the Branch Manager was waiting for me.
I could see him waving from a distance.
“Kim, over here!”
The Branch Manager, whom I hadn’t seen in a few weeks, greeted me warmly.
“Hello. I hope you’ve been well?”
“Of course. Did you have any trouble getting here?”
“No, sir.”
The Branch Manager smiled.
“Oh, that’s right. The Multi-board Go Session you asked me to arrange—you’re sure you don’t want me to pay you? I feel terrible about it.”
Multi-board Go Session.
A format where one person plays simultaneous games against multiple opponents.
An event-style Instructional Match where a professional moves from board to board, making one move at each.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just repaying a debt.”
“……Thank you.”
We stepped into the building and stood before the elevator.
The Branch Manager gave me a quiet word of advice.
“They’re all good people. Well-established, socially speaking. There might be one or two who lack manners—but I hope you’ll be understanding about that.”
“Of course.”
I gave a short laugh.
Rude or not, what would they amount to compared to the problem customers I’d dealt with at the bank?
We got off on the seventh floor and walked down the corridor.
I turned the corner, opened the door marked “Terra,” and stepped inside.
The faint scent of cypress wood.
Go boards lined up neatly along the interior.
If “Mok Ryeon” had felt like a café, “Terra” evoked a refined teahouse.
“Who is this? It’s really Kim In-ha!”
“You actually brought him.”
“Wow, sharp features. Good build too.”
Middle-aged men who’d been playing Go greeted me warmly.
By their appearance alone, they seemed like affable neighborhood uncles.
But most of them were well-educated, socially successful entrepreneurs.
“Welcome, welcome. I’m Jang Jun-man, chairman of the Go Appreciation Club.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Kim In-ha.”
I bowed respectfully.
“Our Branch Manager here brought a difficult guest.”
The Branch Manager introduced me with a gesture.
“Jang runs Barum Tuntun Orthopedic Clinic—operates a franchise hospital network.”
“This fellow, always introducing people right off the bat?”
Jang Jun-man pulled a business card from his wallet.
I accepted it quietly.
The back listed hospitals operated across the country.
“Glad to meet you. That match where you caught cheating—it was really satisfying.”
A second card.
Lee Won-tae, accountant.
“At your earnings level, you’ll need to think about taxes soon. Don’t hesitate to reach out.”
Next.
“The Branch Manager won’t stop raving about you—it’s great to finally meet.”
A third card.
Kang Gil-su, professor.
A statistics professor at one of Seoul’s top universities—exactly where I’d wanted to go during my school days.
Next.
“……I heard from one of my staff that you developed ice cream tteokbokki? Is that true?”
“Pardon?”
“If you ever think about franchising, reach out to me. You don’t have to partner with us if you don’t want to. People who love Go should help each other out.”
Jang Ju-young, CEO of a franchise company built on the food service industry.
An executive who owned stakes in several well-known restaurant brands.
There were also a lawyer, an investment company director, an oriental medicine doctor, a senior government official from a state enterprise.
People I’d never crossed paths with, never even exchanged words with, in all my life.
Business cards were introductions.
Business cards were greetings.
The scent of money, renown, and success was deeply embedded in each one.
“Well, well. Do sit down, everyone.”
Jang Jun-man clapped his hands, setting the tone.
Though we’d just met, the atmosphere was warm.
They all loved Go, all had genuine passion for it.
There was no falseness in that devotion.
“Branch Manager, does our Kim have an event prepared for us?”
“Yes. A Post-Game Review of the final two matches, and a Multi-board Go Session are scheduled.”
The Branch Manager gestured.
The café owner brought out a large Go board, as if he’d been waiting for the signal.
Analog sensibility.
I rose from my chair and stood before the board.
I picked up a black stone, coin-sized and worth a hundred won, and began the post-game review with measured calm.
Thirty moves, a hundred variations.
Early- and mid-game probing.
From my perspective, the reasoning behind each move I’d played.
A sequence of moves more intuitive than AI could prescribe.
And crucially, the moment my board-state assessment shifted, the reason I’d allowed Black to penetrate the center.
“I think of Go as a transformation of thought.”
I looked directly ahead.
The Branch Manager and the group members watched with bright eyes and rapt attention.
“AI calculates. Even if the center breaks through, the overall board state isn’t poor, it reasons. But humans think: if we don’t block here, we’re in serious trouble. Because we can’t afford to lose momentum, as they say.”
I was the same.
My moves were grounded in precise board-state judgment.
But allowing the center to be breached was only possible because I had an entirely different approach in mind.
“So creativity. Human Go requires this shift in thinking. The outcome may match AI’s, but the process is different.”
I paused briefly, then continued.
“The human approach. I played this game from that perspective.”
A soft rustle.
Then someone raised his hand.
Thinning hair, a belly that protruded slightly.
It was Min, the president who ran an event planning agency.
“But wasn’t winning after letting the center break through a bit too result-oriented? Lu Quyuan’s response wasn’t even that good.”
Mixed in with a hint of casual speech.
He was easily twenty years my senior, so I let it slide with a mental shrug.
I explained calmly.
“You’re not entirely wrong. But the reason Lu Quyuan didn’t venture into his own territory here was the risk involved.”
“So that’s…… Lu Quyuan made a mistake because he couldn’t read the moves properly, right?”
He pushed back immediately.
“Talking about human approach and transformation of thought is a bit much, isn’t it? In a way, it was just a blunder.”
He stood with his arms crossed, his posture dismissive.
The type who harbored resentment and rarely acknowledged others.
He seemed to have considerable pride.
Jang Jun-man, the organization’s director, intervened from where he’d been watching quietly.
“Min, that’s enough.”
“I’m just making a point. What do you think, Professor Kang?”
“……The style itself—Kim’s playing style is one that shakes through unconventionality and intuition. It’s hard to call it textbook, but he did penetrate Lu Quyuan’s psychology just as deeply.”
It wasn’t textbook.
Not the blue-spot moves that AI prescribes.
It seemed like appropriate agreement, but it wasn’t high praise.
“Right. Kim’s Go has humanity to it, like you say.”
When Professor Kang came to my defense, Min’s irritation melted away and he laughed contentedly.
‘Humanity.’
A backhanded compliment, subtly cutting me down.
“About that, Min…….”
I could sense the Branch Manager’s mood darkening, felt him about to say something sharp.
The rude person in the group that he’d warned me about from the start.
This was likely the pair.
I smiled quietly and summarized.
“Both of you have valid points. My Go is far removed from the polished, perfected form that AI pursues.”
Gracious acceptance.
Their momentum surged with that admission.
“That’s what was stunning about O Soo at nine-dan. Why would he go through all that hardship? He was basically human artificial intelligence.”
“And Kim Eun-woo as well. His playing style here is completely opposite to yours—if you two matched up, it would be worth watching.”
“Hah. Then who would I root for?”
Min and Professor Kang laughed and bantered back and forth.
I watched them with a quiet smile.
“Shall we wrap up the review here?”
I placed the large stone I’d been holding into the container.
I turned to Jang Jun-man and spoke.
“Since we’ve spent some time already, I’d like to begin the Multi-board Go Session right away.”
Jang Jun-man nodded at my suggestion.
“Then, those of you who’ve agreed to receive Instructional Matches today — please take your seats over there.”
There were five game tables arranged in a line.
Twelve members in total attended the gathering.
I’d heard the remaining seven would either play among themselves or observe.
“Professor, please have a seat as well.”
“Me?”
Professor Kang shook his head.
“Sorry, but it’s not my turn this time…….”
“That’s fine.”
I smiled and swept my gaze slowly around the room. The faces of the gathering’s members flickered past my eyes.
“All twelve of you can participate.”
“What?”
“All twelve of you.”
A moment of silence fell.
Then murmurs rippled through the room.
“Ha. Kim, aren’t you getting a bit overconfident? By Samgukji Go standards, we’re at least 7-dan level.”
Min, the company president, shot back arrogantly.
I knew it well.
The average skill level of this gathering’s members was probably around 7-dan.
I’d heard that Professor Kang among them was a 9-dan player by Samgukji Go standards.
They were strong enough to hold their own even giving up five stones, or at minimum three.
“It’s fine. Since I’ve come this far, I’d like to play against as many of you as possible.”
At my polite response, Jang Jun-man no longer objected.
“Then I’ll leave it to you.”
We rearranged the tables that had been lined up in a row, moving twelve Go boards into a circle.
Min smiled with confidence.
“…Let me tell you — I beat Kim Eun-woo at 9-dan and Jung Si-hu at 9-dan in an Instructional Match while giving them 5 stones?”
I withdrew four black stones from the stone container and placed them on the board.
“In a Multi-board Session like this, wouldn’t just 4 stones be enough?”
“Let’s do it that way.”
The others took their seats cautiously and set up their Handicap Go boards according to the arrangement.
Twelve people.
Twelve Go boards.
And me — one person.
“Shall we begin?”
I scooped a handful of white stones from the container and placed them on the first board.
Click.
Then the next board.
Click.
Click.
With each stone placed and each move to the next board, the air in the room shifted.
Casual gazes sharpened into focus one by one.
Though some faces still held their ease, of course.
‘I need to show them.’
The word “Instructional Match” vanished from my mind.
Why a professional is a professional.
Why professional status is professional status.
And why my opponents in Kim In-ha’s Go yield to me.
‘Exactly one stone.’
The minimum difference in points that decides victory in Handicap Go without compensation.
I’ll show them its weight.
The weight of a single stone.
To all twelve people here.
Equally.

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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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