I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 83

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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 Lucrative Talents Chapter 83
“……Shogi?”
Japan’s traditional chess game.
The surprise faded quickly as the system began updating.
Knowledge related to the Talent “Shogi” poured rapidly into my mind.
Rules, strategy, signature techniques, and history alike.
But.
‘……Hmm.’
I tilted my head slightly.
Knowledge had accumulated, yet no spark of inspiration came with it.
No sense of wonder, no overwhelming sensation—not even the feeling of new perception opening up.
It felt like my knowledge of Go had merely expanded, and nothing more.
‘The rules are interesting, at least.’
Shogi was distinctly different from Korean chess.
The biggest feature was the ‘drop’ system.
After capturing an opponent’s piece, you could use it as your own.
And ‘promotion’.
Pieces that reached certain points would evolve into stronger forms.
Pawns became gold generals, and their movement ranges changed accordingly.
A creative board game layered with sophisticated psychological warfare across the entire board.
But.
‘That’s all there is.’
That was the extent of my impression.
Knowledge that only settled in the mind.
It was utterly different from the sensation I’d felt when first acquiring Go or Archery.
Rather than joy at gaining the Shogi Talent, my mind wandered elsewhere.
‘If this is an expansion……’
A different thought struck me.
The realm of the subconscious.
If the mind-game genre of Go had extended to Shogi……
Could there eventually be Chess or Poker as well?
‘Those are what really excite me.’
Shogi only has reach within Japan.
An even narrower stage than Go.
But Chess?
Poker?
Fields that transcended Asia—they thrived on the world stage.
Setting aside scale, the prize money alone operated on an entirely different level.
If I could reach the pinnacle in those fields too……the impact would be incomparable.
If only that happened.
‘My brand value would rise even higher.’
A laugh escaped me before I realized it.
I’d found a fresh reason to pursue Go with greater passion.
My achievements in Go were beginning to expand into other Talents.
‘Professional Go player.’
The decision to make that my primary job now felt genuinely persuasive for the first time.
As I collected my thoughts, a staff coordinator approached and spoke in a low voice.
“Kim In-ha, we’d like to conduct an interview, if you don’t mind.”
I nodded and stood up.
As I left the studio, journalists waiting in the corridor fell into step behind me.
I stood with them in front of the photo wall bearing the Korea Baduk Association and sponsor DN Automobiles logos.
‘……They’re restless.’
On opening day, I’d left without giving an interview.
As a result, dissatisfaction was written all over the journalists’ faces.
The moment I sat in the prepared seat, a flood of camera shutters erupted.
The moderator began the proceedings calmly.
“Today, you defeated Kim Eun-woo, ranked second nationally at 9-dan. How do you feel?”
I quietly took the microphone.
“Playing against one of the finest players, I was truly delighted to play my best Go.”
A brief comment.
But it was sincere.
Kim Eun-woo, 9-dan.
Once, a player who stood at the summit of the world.
He had shown Go worthy of that name and reputation.
‘I almost lost.’
An opponent I could not guarantee victory against, even if we played again.
He was a player who deserved respect.
The moderator turned the question over to a reporter.
“Until the middle of the game, the board state appeared to be slipping in your favor. But after the upper-right corner exchange, a series of exchanges followed in succession. Was that a calculated sequence?”
I lifted my head.
Meeting the reporter’s eyes, I spoke with certainty.
“It was the only way I could turn the game around.”
We are professional players.
Professionals never throw away a single move carelessly.
For the sake of victory alone, we venture into territories that ordinary people cannot conceive of.
Another reporter took the microphone.
“Today’s game was far removed from an AI style. Do you think this kind of ingenuity can surpass AI Go?”
I looked at the reporter who posed the question and spoke.
“Yes. Go is not mathematics or science. I believe it is closer to an art form—a domain with infinite possibilities within a set of rules.”
For a moment, the reporters’ pens fell silent.
A brief silence.
I went on, undeterred.
“A Game Record is a work, and a Playing Style is a color. Today’s game was the result of the creativity I pursue.”
I spoke with sincerity.
This is my approach to Go.
Not a means to success.
A journey chasing the ultimate Masterpiece Game.
Not alone, but together with my opponent, creating a single work by pursuing the finest move.
Someday, I had wanted to retire while playing Go like that.
From the moment I chose Professional player as my primary job, it was my only wish.
A female reporter seated in the front row muttered softly.
“Honestly… a quote-manufacturing machine, they say.”
It was a small voice, but I heard it clearly.
Though I said nothing, I sensed she was already thinking how these words would be repackaged and sweep across YouTube Shorts or community best posts.
Another reporter raised his hand.
“In the quarterfinals, you’ll face Chai Ran, 8-dan. It’s known that Kim In-ha, 9-dan, typically shows no mercy to Chinese players. Will you take the same approach this time?”
The question was quite provocative.
But it wasn’t particularly interesting to me.
“I hold no ill will toward Chai Ran, 8-dan.”
I turned my gaze straight ahead.
I paused for a beat, then continued calmly.
“I am not a player who gives a middling response to those who challenge me.”
As the words concluded, laughter and admiration erupted simultaneously from the press corps.
Neither provocation nor threat—a clear warning that respected a line.
Yet those words would have sounded to the reporters like this:
A declaration of victory, stating I would crush him with no complacency, giving my absolute best.
“I’ll take one final question.”
The reporters raised their hands in unison.
I pointed to a male reporter seated at the far right.
“Kim In-ha, 9-dan, passed the preliminary selection for the national team in Compound Archery—Korea’s sport of world dominance—in addition to Go.”
I nodded.
By now, hardly anyone didn’t know this story.
“There are concerns that chasing two rabbits at once could mean losing both. What are your thoughts on that?”
All eyes turned toward me.
They fixed on me with an anticipatory gleam, eager to hear what I would say.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
I smiled slightly.
“The two disciplines appear entirely different on the surface, but their essence is similar. They’re both battles to maintain your center in a wavering situation.”
Disciplines that demand the highest concentration and decision-making within prescribed rules.
But.
Go is a battle of moves, while Archery requires physical conditioning.
Both demand tremendous effort and time to reach the pinnacle.
Strictly speaking, pursuing them together is nearly impossible.
But.
‘I can do it.’
I lowered my gaze for a moment, then slowly raised my eyes again.
“……And why do you only think of chasing two rabbits? That’s where the mistake lies. I’m only just beginning.”
With that, I slowly set down the microphone.
A brief silence.
The reporters, barely collecting themselves, raised their hands in unison.
Their flushed faces eager with questions.
But those questions scattered into the air, unanswered.
The moderator, reading the room, moved to wrap things up.
“This concludes the official interview with Kim In-ha, 9-dan.”
The reporters’ sighs of regret.
Yet no one pressed further with forced inquiries.
A kind of preview.
A hint that something lay beyond Go and Archery.
That alone was enough to make a story worth printing.
I rose quietly and withdrew.
Even as I left, flashes erupted behind me.
Go.
And then.
Where would it lead me next?
A thin smile, devoid of warmth, brushed across my lips.

* * *
Hilton Hotel.
The nearest five-star hotel to the Korea Baduk Association.
I’d decided to stay here throughout the Main Tournament.
There was no accommodation allowance, but it didn’t matter.
A kind of investment.
I’d learned more than once that the comfort and rest money could buy directly affected conditioning and recovery.
And tonight, I had an important meeting here.
“I never expected to meet director Kang Yun-hyeok.”
Korea’s foremost young director.
‘1980’—a film about gangsters in the 1980s.
‘Confidential Assignment’—a spy thriller chasing drug smugglers.
He was a man praised for capturing both artistic merit and commercial success.
Even someone like me, uninterested in films, had watched his work in theaters with friends.
My heart quickened without reason.
A man like that wanted to meet me.
“……Jung just told me to hear him out today.”
Jung Soo-yeon still worked in the Marketing Department at Ciel Bank.
Whether she’d resign hung on the results of the secondary Compound Archery selection tournament in three weeks.
But apart from that, she didn’t hold back on personal advice.
‘A brand’s foundation is just as important as its direction. Given film’s influence, it’s wise to actively weigh in on whether this project helps or harms the Kim In-ha brand.’
Turning those words over in my mind, I descended to the lobby.
The fine dining restaurant on the first floor.
The lighting was soft, and the sound of a cello drifted gently through the air.
As I was shown to the reserved room, two people were already seated inside.
“Welcome, Master Kim.”
“It’s an honor to meet you. I’m director Kang Yun-hyeok.”
We exchanged handshakes in turn.
Director Kang Yun-hyeok.
And Oh Gang-woo, the production company representative.
Oh Gang-woo took the lead in setting the tone.
“Shall we start with dinner? The fine dining here is quite excellent.”
It was more natural than I’d expected.
The tension gradually eased, and the wine suited my palate well.
As I ate well, I began to vaguely understand why people sought out good food.
While sipping wine in the comfortable atmosphere, Director Kang pulled a folder from his bag.
“This is a proposal featuring your story. Take a look, won’t you?”
I nodded and slowly examined the cover.
Large letters caught my eye.
Title (Provisional): God’s Masterful Move.
As I turned the cover, the creative intent, characters, and a brief synopsis were all laid out.
Within it lived another “Kim In-ha” I had never known.
In-ha, dismissed as an auxiliary officer.
The story of someone who discovered a talent for Go by chance and raced toward the summit faster than anyone else.
The family watching over him and those around him.
And a Japanese professional Go player who sustains him and shares his heart.
‘Wait… anyone could see that’s Yu Jeuh-ha.’
I quietly furrowed my brow.
Before I could speak, CEO Oh Gang-woo smiled and spoke first.
“The character Miao Anna was modeled after Yu Jeuh-ha.”
“Actually, we’re not in a romantic relationship.”
As I replied calmly, CEO Oh Gang-woo was momentarily flustered, and the director quickly raised his hand to speak.
“I beg your pardon? You two weren’t in a romantic relationship?”
“I apologize. From photos and videos, you seemed so familiar and close to each other. I’d be grateful if you’d simply accept it as creative imagination for the film.”
CEO Oh Gang-woo continued immediately.
“We intend to respect your opinions as much as possible regarding the basic narrative and any unwanted portrayals.”
I quietly nodded.
This must have been the part Team Leader Jung Soo-yeon mentioned.
The details that could harm my brand.
And the point that an image of me as Yu Jeuh-ha’s romantic partner could become damage to her as well.
That responsibility, in the end, was mine to bear.
I quietly steadied my resolve.
Still.
The fact that my story would become a film was certainly a pleasant thing.
It would surely help in the process of building my brand too.
‘I should use what I can.’
Suddenly, I imagined something.
What if this film wasn’t just one, but continued as a series?
Or what if someone came to me wanting to turn my story into a drama?
It was too early to imagine such things, but it was a pleasant imagination.
The kind of dream I wanted to make reality someday, no matter what.

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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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