I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 74

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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 Episode 74
Advertising Film Set.
My face caked in thick makeup, my body draped in a suit worth several million won.
And there I sat, as always, in front of a Go Board.
I deliberated for a moment, then reached out quietly.
My gaze as earnest as if I were playing a divine stone.
Directed not at the Go Board, but straight at the camera.
‘……Is this right?’
My sense of identity had cracked.
What I held in my hand wasn’t a Baduk Stone.
Free Time.
A famous mini chocolate bar produced since the nineties.
I was placing it on the Go Board instead of stones.
“Cut! Thank you for your work.”
With the director’s approval, filming wrapped.
“You worked hard.”
The staff members waiting outside the camera’s view approached and greeted me.
I managed an awkward smile.
‘……What exactly did I just do?’
Even for a commercial, placing chocolate bars on a Go Board felt wrong somehow.
Far too absurd.
But the shock didn’t end there.
—The sweetness of a single stone’s difference.
Five days ago, when I heard they’d dubbed my voice into the commercial, my entire body had shriveled in embarrassment.
Honestly, I didn’t think I could watch this CF with a clear conscience.
“Your acting was good, In-ha. When you were playing Baduk, the intensity was…… wow, you looked like someone else entirely?”
“That’s my primary job, after all.”
I finished the conversation with an embarrassed laugh.
That marked the end of filming.
I removed my makeup in the Makeup Room, changed into comfortable clothes, and stepped out.
“Worn well.”
As I returned the suit to the wardrobe staff on a hanger, relief washed across her face.
“I’m glad we had a spare size. What exercise have you been doing? Your body’s changed so much in just a few days?”
“Just…… I’ve been doing a bit of personal training.”
I laughed awkwardly.
The suit I’d worn during the fitting a week ago had fit snugly.
Obviously, it was a size that no longer worked.
Fortunately, the spare garment she’d brought along saved the shoot.
“That’s surprising. My boyfriend doesn’t improve even with that much training. Anyway, thank you for your hard work.”
Just as I was about to leave the Wardrobe Room.
A representative from the Confectionery Company who’d led the contract and meeting negotiations approached.
“You worked very hard today.”
“Not at all. It’s thanks to the director and all the staff being so considerate.”
I released our clasped hands and smiled.
“Actually, our headquarters brought up sponsorship for you.”
“……Sponsorship?”
“Yes. Would you be able to adjust your schedule and meet during the week?”
I nodded.
Money talk.
There was no reason to refuse.
“I understand.”
“Then I’ll prepare to meet you under favorable terms.”
I exchanged greetings with the representative and left the set.
The tension drained from me.
My body felt heavy, as if I’d just finished a final championship match.
Standing under the lights, facing the camera—it was as exhausting as competing in a tournament and playing Baduk.
“My head’s spinning.”
Since winning the Ciel Bank Championship, one commercial after another had followed.
A thirty-million-won YouTube gaming commercial.
An eighty-million-won chocolate bar lead commercial.
In just the past few weeks, advertising revenue alone had exceeded two hundred million won.
“Though I turned down the highest-paying coin commercial.”
Not that I regretted it.
As Team Leader Jung Soo-yeon had advised, image was everything in commercial films.
The moment you chase short-term profit and tarnish your image, you close off the long-term path, she’d said.
“Sponsorship offers… already two of them?”
Sponsorship.
An exclusive endorsement contract.
Annual sponsorship fees, support funds, and performance-based incentives.
Logo placement on clothing and equipment.
Brand exposure in interviews and broadcast appearances.
Promotional videos and SNS mentions of the sponsor.
Nothing like a simple advertising model.
It meant becoming the face of a brand itself.
Opportunities like this were rare in the Baduk world.
“Let me wait a bit longer.”
Until I was certain of my own value, until I found a company we could truly grow together with.
I arrived at the parking lot, opened the car door, and turned on the engine.
Then a text message arrived on my smartphone.
The sender: Korea Baduk Association.
[Korea’s first championship. The Guoksu Tournament revived after ten years of discontinuation. The preliminary rounds will proceed as scheduled next week, including specially invited professional players. Professional Player Kim In-ha is assigned to Group 10. The match time is…….]
A total of 214 domestic professional players.
Plus four specially invited players from China and Japan.
The preliminaries would follow a thirty-minute sudden-death rule with six-and-a-half-point komi.
Championship prize of one hundred million won, runner-up prize of fifty million won.
By prize money alone, it was less than world championships.
But the Guoksu Tournament held significance far beyond mere prize money.
Guoksu.
South Korea’s first Baduk championship.
An icon of Baduk representing the nation.
A glorious title granted to only twelve people throughout history.
The Guoksu held the highest authority alongside the Master and the Sage—the supreme honorific of Baduk.
Beyond mere victory, it was a historical symbol.
Cultural value.
That title was being revived after ten years.
“……So if I win, I’d be called Kim In-ha the Guoksu?”
Desire kindled in me.
More than anything, more than anything else.
Even Oh Su, the Ninth-Rank Master of old, was called “Oh Su the Guoksu” rather than master or professional.
It embodied skill and dignity, tradition itself.
There was nothing else I wanted more than to claim that domestic title.
“Tempting.”
I smiled and pressed the accelerator.
There was still time before the Guoksu Tournament.
For now, it was time to pursue what I’d already prepared.

* * *
I gripped the steering wheel and drove toward the Outskirts of Gyeonggi Province.
An outdoor archery range with a fifty-meter compound target setup.
It was such an unpopular sport that places with proper regulation specs were rare.
Arriving at the archery range, I slung my bag across my shoulder.
As I stepped inside, several gazes turned toward me.
Murmuring sounds.
I headed straight for the counter.
“Is the fifty-meter compound line available?”
“Ah, position eighteen is open, but…… you’d have to share it with the club members.”
“That’s fine.”
In archery, it’s standard for two people to shoot at the same target.
After paying, I gathered my bow and equipment and headed toward the shooting line.
The target at the far end, nestled deepest in the range.
Lane 18.
As I approached, the eyes of club members checking their equipment and shooting arrows turned toward me.
I began quietly unpacking my gear when someone cautiously stepped closer.
Club logo emblazoned on his shirt.
He was slightly taller than me, with firm forearms.
His belly protruded a bit, but overall his frame was solid and muscular.
“……Are you perhaps the professional Baduk player Kim In-ha?”
I looked up and smiled.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Wow, it’s my first time meeting you. I didn’t expect…… I’m not very good at Baduk, but I’m a fan.”
“Thank you.”
Lately, more people have been recognizing me.
It feels good in some ways, but a bit burdensome too.
The other club members nodded in greeting as well. I returned their gesture.
“You shoot Compound, then?”
“Yes.”
At my answer, their faces brightened.
Interest in a newcomer, and consideration.
Apart from Recurve, Archery itself is such a niche hobby.
They had that eager look of people dying to teach something.
I took out my bow and equipment and began assembling them.
Release, Scope, Stabilizer, V-Bar.
I laid them out in order and started setting up with practiced movements.
“Your equipment’s nice too…… and you seem really familiar with it. Have you been shooting for a long time?”
“No. It hasn’t been that long.”
“Really? So you taught yourself?”
“Well, yes.”
It’s a bit awkward to explain, but strictly speaking, that’s accurate.
Beside me, the club members casually struck up conversation.
“Is this your first time shooting at 50 meters?”
“Yes. I’ve shot at 18 meters a few times, but 50 is my first.”
Even that amounted to just a few shots with a rental Recurve bow at an indoor Archery Range.
“Ah, so you’ve been going to indoor ranges.”
“Then it might be hard to get the feel for it at first. There’s the distance, and the pin position changes depending on the wind.”
Their eyes carried earnest advice.
In that gaze flickered the look of a ‘stuck-in-the-hobby veteran’ eager to teach.
It was kind of them, but also a bit troublesome.
Still, since they were a fan, it felt awkward to cut them off flatly.
“It is my first time, but then again, it’s not.”
“Pardon?”
I gripped the Release once and let it go, then made a minute adjustment to the torque.
Body and equipment, environment.
In the sense that I didn’t accept any of it as unfamiliar, this was unmistakably my own sensibility.
Then one of the club members spoke up hesitantly.
“By the way, our club president here finished 18th in the Compound national team selection trials last year.”
“Hey. Why are you saying that?”
“Well, it’s good if we can help with anything they don’t know. Besides, new members are hard to come by these days…….”
“Ahem.”
The club president cleared his throat.
He didn’t seem entirely displeased at being praised by the members.
I looked at him with fresh interest.
Come to think of it.
‘……They said even some who made the national team came from non-selected ranks.’
Ordinary skilled shooters who fire thirty-six arrows and break 350 points.
The club president might very well be one of those rare cases.
He carefully broached the subject.
“If you’re new to this, would you like some help? We’d be using the same Target anyway.”
“Yes, that’s fine with me.”
I fixed the Scope position one last time and drew a breath.
My body has changed lately.
Fingertip sensitivity.
Weight distribution.
The rhythm of breathing.
Subtle at first, then unmistakably—everything aligned perfectly.
“Your form is excellent. Very stable. Self-taught, aren’t you?”
The club president continued speaking.
“At first, just hitting the target can be difficult. If you keep the same settings at short range, the arrow tends to fly high. And outdoors, there’s wind to consider too…….”
I nodded and nocked my first arrow.
The flag above the target trembled faintly.
I factored even that wind current into my calculation.
Release locked.
Breath steady.
Twang!
The arrow flew and embedded itself in the upper portion of the target.
“Seven points.”
A club member peering through the scope murmured.
I nocked again.
Second arrow.
I fine-tuned my aim and released more smoothly from my fingertips.
“Eight points.”
His expression shifted slightly.
Third shot.
After a long, centered breath, a steady release.
Twang!
“Nine points.”
A small exclamation slipped out.
Even the club president checking the scope looked startled.
“That’s—you’re shooting remarkably well. All three arrows on target on your first try?”
“Today, my feel is good. Let me adjust the settings for a moment.”
I moved the pin one notch to the right.
An adjustment accounting for the leftward wind.
I fine-tuned the release torque as well.
“Oh, there’s usually…….”
He began to offer casual advice, then fell silent.
My adjustments came too naturally; for a moment, confusion crossed his face.
‘Getting the feel for it now.’
The response speed of my arms, shoulders, and back muscles.
The curve of the wind, the drop of gravity.
Everything felt like one unified whole.
As I took my stance, a member at the opposite shooting line raised his bow.
His first shot.
Twang!
Then my turn.
Twang!
Arrows flew back and forth.
“……Ten points.”
The president spoke quietly, checking the scope.
Second shot.
Thunk.
Third shot.
“Ten again.”
He pulled his eye from the scope and murmured.
“……Really, all tens?”
“You’re not saying—today you had a good feeling, and now the arrows are listening?”
“Not you.”
“Huh?”
I checked the scoresheet through the scope mounted on the tripod, then slowly raised my head.
Every eye at the range had turned toward me.
Faces of disbelief.
Mouths hanging open in silence.
She turned her head with a quiet smile.
“You said you’d help me, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry?”
The director’s head snapped up in surprise.
His eyes flickered with something like wariness.
I squeezed the Release once more, then released it, and continued in an even tone.
“Would you be willing to be my opponent?”
“……An opponent?”
A brief silence.
Confusion and tension hung in the air.
I smiled and added.
“With Baduk too—I focus better when I have someone to play against.”

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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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