I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 76

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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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Talents That Pay 076
Tap.
A tense early-middle game.
Kang Chan pressed forward without hesitation.
He thrust through the center, boring relentlessly toward the vital points.
Baduk the way I love to play it.
The Baduk that made me who I am.
And now he was using that very Baduk to pierce my heart.
‘This is fun.’
I found myself genuinely delighted by the position.
That boy who came asking for my autograph.
The boy who didn’t hesitate to call me his model.
And now, challenging me through that Baduk.
I made a decision.
‘I’ll give everything I have.’
That was the least I could offer a boy who had made me his target.
Real Baduk.
Tap.
I cut the black stones.
A psychological duel where sensation and intuition meshed perfectly.
Kang Chan hesitated for a moment before playing.
Tap.
A quiet extension.
A diagonal shift that introduced variation, sowing confusion.
Even I was taken aback.
This wasn’t a Blue Spot recommendation from the AI.
Momentum.
Bold play.
The intuitive moves from the pre-artificial intelligence era.
And that was—
‘You’ve done a lot of research, haven’t you?’
A move I myself might have played.
The resolve and persistence with which I pursued my own Baduk flowed through that stone.
Because of that, I couldn’t help but respond with complete sincerity.
Tap.
Pressure answered with pressure.
Destabilization met with destabilization.
A Baduk that knew no middle ground.
No time to even glance at the territory count—both of us were being pulled inexorably toward the critical fight.
Like walking on thin ice, not a single move could afford a mistake.
One false step, and you sank into the cold depths of defeat.
Kang Chan pressed again.
Relentless, fierce, audacious.
The floating group grew larger and larger.
There was no such thing as damage control anymore.
Capture or be captured.
Only one of the two.
‘Of course, the former.’
The latter was never an option to begin with.
Kang Chan was undoubtedly a fine player.
He had followed my Baduk in his own distinctive style.
He was skilled, relentless, and above all, played his own moves.
And yet.
He hadn’t reached where I stand.
‘The board still lacks depth.’
A Go board is a canvas.
You sketch the foundation, layer in the colors, and finish the work.
That beginning is conception, designing the chaos itself.
Not Baduk confined to a single region, but Baduk that exploits the entire board as one.
That’s what I need to show him.
To do that.
‘Should I try to crush it with everything I’ve got?’
In a match, mercy is a luxury.

* * *
‘F-finally, I can play.’
Kang Chan felt both excitement and trembling coursing through him at once.
Across the Go Board sat Kim In-ha.
His idol.
His heart raced simply by sitting in the same match room, at the same board.
‘It’s fine. Just play like you always do.’
Click.
As he placed his opening move, some of the tension melted away.
Concentration kindled, and fierce determination surged up from within.
The Baduk he admired.
How closely had he come to resembling it?
And more than that—he wanted to see with his own eyes how far he’d come.
‘I want to show you.’
Eleven years and six months old.
Kang Chan broke the record for Korea’s youngest Professional Promotion, sending ripples through the Baduk world.
Called a prodigy, he was singled out as the rising star to lead Korean Baduk.
Yet Kang Chan felt no joy.
Though he’d achieved Professional Promotion through AI research, playing by AI’s dictates felt hollow and mechanical.
Yes—it wasn’t enjoyable.
Then, by chance, he’d watched Kim In-ha play.
An amateur defeating accomplished professional players, even overcoming cheating itself.
And above all, that Baduk was utterly captivating.
Baduk unconcerned with AI’s predicted win rates.
He boldly chose moves that sidestepped AI’s recommended plays.
What they called Sacrifice Moves.
Yet such moves became the seeds of transformation.
They forced opponents into psychological pressure, prevented them from mounting a proper defense.
‘You’re far too captivating.’
He was drawn in.
Entranced.
He wanted to play Baduk like this.
That desire had even transformed Kang Chan’s own Baduk style.
And today, at last, he faced his idol.
Click.
An Opening Strategy rich with variations.
Though it was Kim In-ha’s style, the early game had become Kang Chan’s own.
‘For now, I’m seizing the initiative.’
Kang Chan pressed his momentum forward.
Within familiar patterns, he steered the play toward maximum complexity and variation.
Destabilization.
He warped the Board State into confusion, a fog so thick the next move couldn’t be glimpsed.
The battle in the center intensified.
Floating Groups collided with Floating Groups.
There was no retreat.
A clash as if to see it through to the end.
‘I have the advantage.’
Kang Chan dominated the board.
He cut first.
He expanded first.
He enclosed first.
And yet.
By the middle game, as the fierce back-and-forth intensified, a strange unease crept over him.
Even though he was clearly in control.
He was the one destabilizing, yet he was the one being destabilized.
‘Why—why is this happening?’
Kim In-ha was quiet.
His expression, his gaze, even the tremor of each stone as it touched the board.
He absorbed every move like water taking its shape.
Perfect responses.
Moves that landed somewhere between calculation and intuition.
The difference was minute.
But in Baduk, such differences became gaps.
Kang Chan drew a sharp breath without thinking.
‘Why is white there…….’
By the natural flow of the game, that was obviously where it belonged.
Positions he hadn’t paid much attention to.
And yet.
At every critical point, white stones had settled like cornerstones, blocking the space to breathe.
‘Was I being read……?’
Sweat broke through. His face burned, his hands had gone cold.
He thought he had shaken the board.
But he hadn’t.
White was already moving several moves ahead of him.
Like being outplayed from above.
Kang Chan’s eyes flickered with agitation.
A small collapse rippled into the central battle.
One of his large groups fractured, and the balance crumbled.
His intention had been severed completely.
The floating group couldn’t hold.
‘……A wall.’
Only then did Kang Chan understand.
He had never once controlled the flow of the game.
And by the time he realized it.
His black stones…….
The large group was already dead.

* * *
“……I’ve lost.”
A quiet voice.
Tinged with regret and self-reproach.
Kang Chan looked down at the board and pointed to a black stone.
“Was this move here…… too ambitious?”
I shook my head.
“That move wasn’t bad. The intention to force change was sound. But…….”
I let my words drift as I chose carefully.
“The premise of your destabilization was wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“……Destabilization only works when you can shake your opponent. If you’re the one shaken first, that’s not destabilization—that’s overreach.”
Kang Chan’s eyes flickered finely.
As if something had suddenly aligned.
It seemed he’d grasped what that precarious balance meant.
I smiled slightly.
“You played well.”
He widened his eyes.
“The moves you threw down weren’t following AI—they were intuitive, and they were sharp. Some of them especially so.”
At my praise, Kang Chan’s expression brightened a little.
“Then…… could I eventually play Baduk like you do?”
“Of course. You have the feel for it, and the vision too.”
I meant that sincerely.
I saw potential in Kang Chan’s Baduk.
And because he wanted to play like me, I didn’t hold back my guidance.
“When you can explain to yourself why you played a move, when you understand how to design it…… that’s when it becomes your Baduk.”
A brief silence fell.
His expression bright with understanding.
Kang Chan simply nodded quietly, slowly.
“Thank you. I’ll definitely challenge you again. And I’ll win next time. So you have to stay at the top…….”
Kang Chan broke into a grin.
“You have to stay right there at the peak.”
A formidable declaration of intent.
To grow stronger still.
I could feel his determination to surpass me, standing where I stood.
But I smiled.
“Good. Come at me harder next time. I’m looking forward to it.”
Kang Chan nodded vigorously and bowed.
I rose from my seat and confirmed the result with the referee.
Then I went to the water cooler in the hallway and had a drink.
I returned to my seat and took a moment to catch my breath.
I watched the match at the next board while clearing my head.
By then, most of the third round had finished, and the fourth round began.
‘Ha Jun-ho, 9-dan.’
I assessed the opponent before me.
Ranked 49th among domestic professionals.
An experienced mid-level pro.
He’d once climbed as high as 15th rank and held the runner-up title in a domestic professional tournament.
‘……About the same level as Kim Min-ho, I’d say.’
According to Gisung Research Group’s analysis, his Baduk style was similar too.
Solid, pragmatic Baduk.
Stubborn and weighty, strong in the nuances of the game.
As a professional who’d reached the Master rank, he was far from an easy opponent.
‘Just as I always do.’
No carelessness.
Tap.
I took Black and played the opening move.
The early game was exploration.
I built thickness in the center and ceded the corners.
I’d fall behind in territory, but that was my blueprint.
There’s no Baduk without conflict.
Even less so at the professional level, where there’s no room for concession.
As influence builds, an invasion becomes inevitable.
Tap.
White invaded.
‘Here it comes.’
Now the real game begins.
Shake and block.
Induce combat while allowing no compromise.
Reverse the order of exchanges and steer toward favorable positions.
Convert my influence into territory while subtly whittling away White’s advantage.
Precise, exquisite moves.
“Ah.”
Someone let out a small gasp.
The professional players surrounding our board.
They’d remained here even after being eliminated in the preliminaries.
‘Precisely because they want to watch my game.’
Future opponents I’d eventually face.
I could feel their intent to study me now, with their eyes.
‘Then I’ll have to show them more.’
The sensation of professional players’ gazes converging on me.
It could have been pressure, but it became motivation instead.
Because all of it—scrutiny, interest—proved my position.
From the center to the left edge.
Dozens of moves interlocked from the center to the left edge, and a massive battle unfolded.
And then the Empty Triangle Move that followed.
By all measures, a low-probability move by AI’s expected win rate.
But I was certain.
This move would change the board state right now.
He hesitated.
Ha Jun-ho’s hand slowed.
A long deliberation.
He pondered deeply.
But it was already too late to take it back.
He’d refused to answer the provocation.
A merciless hunt for the large group—no compromise.
His reckless attempt to recover the collapsing position had summoned an irreversible catastrophe.
Click.
Ha Jun-ho placed a stone under the board’s cover.
Resignation.
He swept the stones away without a post-game review, then quietly left the table.
His expression was composed, but his fingertips trembled faintly.
Pride, perhaps.
A brutal defeat—forced to resign before all those watching.
Such defeat leaves a bitter taste for anyone.
‘……I won’t pity him.’
That’s simply how competition works.
In this world, there’s nothing more wretched than failure.
Quietly.
I rose as well.
The professional baduk players who had been observing began leaving one by one.
Their retreating forms.
The tangled expressions and glints in their eyes said everything.
Admiration, and caution.
Branded in clear, unmistakable weight—raw skill.
Not mere respect, but something deeper and sharper: genuine wariness.
—Ding!
[You have advanced to the main tournament of the 60th DN Automobile National Champions Tournament.]
[You have defeated a ‘seasoned Master.’]
[The system recognizes the evolution potential of your Baduk talent. The next stage is the Realm of Enlightenment.]
‘What?’
A message unlike any before.
Talent evolution.
And the Realm of Enlightenment.
I couldn’t quite grasp it yet.
Still.
‘……We grew together.’
Unlike my other talents, Baduk had developed step by step, alongside me, from the very beginning.
Not mechanical calibration, but a progression I had built entirely myself.
On the board, I felt it distinctly.
Not moves made by calculation alone.
Instinct and computation.
Fluctuation and conviction.
And eyes that read the flow.
What mattered most was that all of it had been my moves.
‘Perhaps…….’
A realm of thought that transcended Baduk itself.
That possibility flickered across my mind.
Of course, for now it was only an abstract sensation.
But one thing was certain.
I’m still growing.
And this talent—it’s nowhere near finished.
‘I’m looking forward to it.’
A smile escaped before I could help it.

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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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