I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 79

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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 to Count for Money 079
National Team First Selection Round Third Competition Concluded.
A large bulletin board set up in the booth displayed the scorecards of all participating athletes.
Among them, the list of qualifiers for the second selection round—open only to the top sixteen—stood apart, drawing every eye.
1st Place Kim In-ha – 1,071 points, X-Ten: 55
2nd Place Park Gye-ri – 1,066 points, X-Ten: 51
.
.
1,071 out of 1,080 points.
An overwhelming score.
And he’d logged the highest number of X-Ten hits among all competitors.
Someone studying the scorecard murmured quietly.
“In this weather…… 1,071 points.”
“Apparently the highest score ever recorded in the third competition of the national team selections.”
“That’s not amateur level…….”
Silence fell over the group.
The national team second selection round—only sixteen could advance.
The fact that Kim In-ha had claimed one of those precious spots.
A professional Baduk player, no less.
Not even a former pro, but someone from the general public.
No matter how much this world ran on pure ability, here on a stage packed with elite athletes—
for someone like Kim In-ha, practically a stranger, to take a seat meant wounded pride for every single one of them.
After a brief lull, someone turned and asked.
“Right. Chul-hee, wasn’t your shooting line right next to his? You saw it, didn’t you?”
“What was Kim In-ha like?”
The familiar competitors asked.
Shin Chul-hee fell silent for a moment, then spoke in a low voice.
“……He’s insane.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t…… adjust for the wind. He just lets it fly exactly as is.”
The athlete who’d asked furrowed his brow.
“So he’s just shooting at random?”
“That can’t be. All of them landed in X-Ten.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
For a moment, no one could find words.
A sense beyond comprehension.
An accuracy that defied explanation.
The scorecard doesn’t lie.
But beneath those numbers, there was clearly a realm that no digit could account for.
“……I just can’t judge this athlete. That’s the answer.”
Shin Chul-hee let the words drift away.
Their lingering weight was long and deep.
Of course, there were those who showed no reaction even upon hearing this.
The top-tier athletes.
Former national representatives.
Star players from corporate teams.
They focused not on their opponent, but on the battle within themselves.
The first selection round was merely a gate for them.
The real goal was final selection.
Whoever the opponent, in the end you fight only yourself.
So they steadied their breathing, calmed their minds through meditation, and opened their routine notebooks again to assess themselves.
But.
Despite their efforts not to notice, their eyes kept converging on the same point.
“…….”
Outside the booth.
Beneath the grey sky where rain and wind still fell.
Kim In-ha, sitting alone on a bench, eating from a lunchbox.
The rain had eased somewhat, but watching the wet leaves and grass and the flag, he chewed slowly—
as though he were chewing not rice, but the wind itself, the time, the humidity alongside it.
It was no routine.
Immersion.
Focus.
Determination for victory.
That alone was enough to be a powerful stimulus for those aiming to become national representatives.

* * *
Steam rose faintly from the damp lunch box wrapper.
I opened the lid, ate some rice and side dishes, then slowly closed it again.
The flag at the shooting line.
It was different from moments before.
The wind’s direction had shifted subtly.
‘The wind’s changed since earlier.’
The sky remained overcast.
The rain had nearly stopped, but the humidity had only climbed higher.
‘I’d prefer to release a bit later, with a cleaner break.’
I opened the lid and ate another spoonful of rice. I took a light sip of broth as well.
At the same time, I drew in the wind with me.
The breath sank inward, and my senses came alive again.
While the other competitors retreated indoors or to the rest areas.
I didn’t leave that spot.
Sitting alone on the bench, I poured all my focus into reading the wind.
‘……I can’t let my guard down.’
Three matches remaining.
I’d already opened up a lead in points.
I was also ahead in X-Ten count.
But I couldn’t afford to relax.
‘This isn’t just any sport—it’s Korean archery.’
Ever since Compound was adopted as an official non-Olympic event, the competition had grown far more intense.
A talent pool so deep that any selection would be justified.
Nearly thirty elite archers alone.
And today’s weather was particularly treacherous.
A single moment of carelessness could ruin everything.
I took another slow, measured breath.
Expressing my talent was the way I lived, and it was how I proved my success.
But this time felt different—it would be harder to simply enjoy it.
The Taegeuk Mark.
That was never a symbol to take lightly.
Light of heart, heavy with responsibility.
Yet with senses all the keener.
I finished the rest of my lunch, covered the container, and put it in the bag.
“Then shall I go back and keep shooting?”
I walked slowly toward the shooting line.
Beneath the gray sky.
The brief lull in rain and wind had given way to something fiercer.
And I was waiting for that wind.
First place overall in the Compound national team selection trials.
To claim that title.
Since I’d started late, this was the surest way to prove myself.

* * *
Sixth competition of the national team selection trials.
Athletes on the line were continuing their final shots toward the target.
“…….”
Nick Cutter alternated his gaze between the score sheet and the athletes on the line, verifying repeatedly.
Foul weather.
The fiercest rain and wind of the day.
Given all these conditions, the numbers being recorded were extraordinarily difficult to achieve by any reasonable standard.
That overwhelming record belonged to competitor Kim In-ha.
Nick Cutter’s gaze remained fixed.
“……Kim In-ha’s score is remarkable. Through round five, he’s maintained a lead of ten points or more over second place. And he has an overwhelming number of X-Tens.”
Jeong Coach’s words were relayed through the interpreter to Director Nick Cutter.
“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. Such scores in this downpour…”
Noh Coach, standing nearby, added his voice cautiously.
A record that extraordinary.
Director Nick Cutter’s eyes remained fixed on the shooting line as his mouth slowly opened.
“That guy…… Kim In-ha doesn’t calculate the wind. He feels it.”
In Compound archery, the era is one of shooting like a machine.
Release pressure.
Stabilizer weight.
Scope lens.
Every element is quantified, every posture refined through repetition.
Yet Kim In-ha was flagrantly defying that standard.
Mechanical elements—only as much as necessary.
The scope is not an object of will, merely a reference.
He doesn’t delay the moment.
He doesn’t pause when the wind tangles.
“……More like a hunt, than a machine.”
Director Nick Cutter’s eyes grew grave and distant.
The Compound Bow had originated from hunting arrows.
Moving targets.
Living wind.
In capricious nature, a world where a single shot must end everything.
Even now, the upper classes of Europe and America still use Compound Bows for hunting.
Reading intuitively, shooting by instinct.
That was the primitive origin of the bow itself, the true form that competitive Compound had long forgotten.
Much like Kim In-ha’s shooting—more impressive than the scores written in the record sheet.
Jeong Coach opened his lips quietly.
“It reminds me of your philosophy, sir. Wind isn’t something to wait for—it’s something to overcome.”
Director Nick Cutter nodded.
South Korea’s dominance in archery was beyond dispute.
And yet Compound—a discipline that had never reached the summit.
He had accepted the Archery Association’s offer as director because he saw the possibility.
Korea’s archery talent pool.
Generous investment.
Transparent management.
And a system proven in Recurve.
He was certain of it.
South Korea would soon conquer the world in Compound as well.
It would only take time.
In that moment.
A violent gust swept across the entire field.
Rain, carried on the wind, pressed into the booth—close enough to sting the face.
The flags above the target fluttered wildly, and the flagpole twisted with a sharp groan.
When every archer held their breath, unable to release.
Bang!
Kim In-ha shot.
The arrow, leaving the bowstring, lodged in the dead center.
Rapid fire followed.
One shot, then another.
He didn’t stop.
Every arrow tore into the center target like puncture wounds.
And he—lifting his head, gazes upward at the sky.
He doesn’t even confirm the target through a spotting scope.
No—he dismisses it with certainty.
That brief moment as he steadies his breath.
From a distance, his expression was unmistakably satisfied.
“……Maybe.”
Director Nick Cutter murmured.
“Of all the players I’ve seen, he’s the most like a hunter.”
A hunter doesn’t check which part of the prey his arrow has struck.
Whether the prey has fallen or not.
Whether the objective has been achieved or not.
That alone determines everything.
‘Perhaps…….’
He reflected in silence.
The image of Korean compound archery reaching the pinnacle of the world stage.
The five-year plan—or perhaps ten-year plan—he’d been envisioning.
It might become reality far sooner than he’d anticipated.

* * *
A luxury hotel lounge bar in Gangnam.
As the elevator doors opened, I was greeted by soft jazz music drifting through the air.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows under dim lighting, rain streaked downward in gentle lines.
The atmosphere was refined and sophisticated.
“Over here.”
A woman raised her hand with an alluring gesture as she noticed me.
Sleek, shoulder-length hair.
Small, gleaming designer earrings.
A form-fitting dress and high heels.
A whiskey glass in one hand, legs crossed—the image captivated the eye.
It was Jung Soo-yeon, the team leader.
“Hello……there?”
I greeted her awkwardly as I approached.
She was someone I always associated with office attire and her title as team leader.
But today was different.
‘She’s beautiful.’
The first impression wasn’t of a career woman, but of a sophisticated woman.
Refined yet dignified—she suited the five-star hotel atmosphere and the beauty mark far more perfectly.
An image that didn’t just catch the eye, but commanded attention.
Jung Soo-yeon smiled.
“You look quite surprised?”
“……I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“I like to keep work and personal life separate.”
Jung Soo-yeon tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her neckline and collarbone came subtly into view.
“You really made quite the splash, didn’t you, Kim In-ha?”
Jung Soo-yeon turned her smartphone screen toward me.
The 9 o’clock news, sports segment.
It was an interview clip of me passing the first round of the national team selection for compound archery in first place.
-There are many talented competitors in compound archery. But……I have no intention of losing. I want to feel the weight of the Taegeuk Mark.
My words came through serious and clear, delivered in a measured tone.
Gravity colored the interview in a way my usual demeanor didn’t convey.
That gravity was my resolve and bearing toward representing the nation.
Seeing that, Jung Soo-yeon smiled faintly.
The beauty mark where the light touched it became strikingly distinct.
“How could I not come?”
She slowly swirled her glass and withdrew a file folder.
A cool leather cover.
An emblem embossed in gold leaf.
A sponsorship proposal prepared by Ciel Bank.
“How far are you planning to go? The national team?”
“Higher.”
I answered without hesitation.
The Taegeuk Mark.
I had no intention of stopping there.
She met my gaze and smiled quietly.
“I thought as much. This proposal accounts for that. It’s the highest amount among all the sponsorship contracts Ciel Bank offers.”
My eyes naturally drifted toward the file folder.
I hadn’t opened the cover yet, but its weight transmitted through my fingertips.
The moment I cautiously reached out to examine it.
Slender white fingers descended like a butterfly, alighting softly upon the back of my hand.
“If it were me… I don’t think I’d sign it.”
My hand stilled.
I looked up to find her gazing straight at me.
“Kim In-ha.”
She spoke my name softly, set down her glass, and smiled with composed grace.
“……What do you think of me?”
“I’m sorry?”
A breath that seemed to catch in my throat.
Dazzlingly poised, yet something in the air shifted—a precarious, trembling tension.
The corner of her mouth rose, unhurried and deliberate.
“As your business partner.”

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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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