I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 86

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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 Worth Money – Episode 86
‘……Well, I’ve seen all kinds of people, haven’t I?’
I’d witnessed various acts of bad sportsmanship while competing in amateur tournaments.
But this was my first time watching a professional slap his own face at a championship finals.
Crack.
Not once. Twice.
Hard enough to ring out, his cheeks flushing crimson.
His expression mingled rage, shame, and the shock of disbelief.
‘Was missing a move really shameful enough to hurt yourself over?’
It wasn’t a mistake. It was skill.
I had read the move. Tsu Hao had not.
That fact must have driven him to this self-inflicted torment.
‘The match is over.’
Letting emotion explode during a game meant your mind had crumbled.
The point difference mattered, the subtle moves mattered, the board state mattered.
But what had broken in Tsu Hao now was his composure.
And a defeat like this would surely poison the second game tomorrow.
He placed another stone while pulling at his hair, berating himself.
Thunk.
A move too late to pour spilled water back into the cup.
My stones, living with dual anchors, writhed in the center and swallowed White’s shape.
Tsu Hao’s legs trembled visibly.
The Go stones in his grip clattered loudly against each other.
Had he believed this was a game he could win?
Now that belief lay shattered, leaving no trace of sportsmanship behind.
Tsu Hao placed a few more stones in desperation.
When he finally found no thread of reversal, he irritably hurled the stones in his hand into the stone container.
And suddenly he muttered something, gnashing his teeth.
“Hell……bloody hell.”
It was definitely Korean.
Pronounced perfectly.
In that instant, I froze, the referee froze, everyone around froze.
A brief silence.
In that quiet, I glanced at Tsu Hao.
‘……This is the first time I’ve seen a Chinese man curse in Korean.’
He bit his lip hard and rose from his seat, eyes wide.
The referee approached with an interpreter and carefully asked if he was conceding.
Tsu Hao nodded curtly.
Then, turning to leave the studio, I called out in fluent Mandarin:
“The better player won, right?”
Fluent Chinese.
Tsu Hao stopped and turned; his jaw twisted.
Uncontrollable waves of emotion lay bare across his face.
And once more.
“Bloody hell.”
He spat out the curse and swept from the studio.
I watched his retreating figure in silence.
‘Well……should I call this the greatness of the Korean language?’
A Chinese man using Korean profanity.
Why did the accent make it so crisp?
A stifled laugh escaped me.
In any case.
Tsu Hao had provoked first, and I’d simply answered the provocation.
And.
‘I won.’
As the reality of victory slowly settled onto my skin, a familiar notification chimed.
-Ding!
[You have achieved victory in Game 1 of the Finals of the 60th DN Auto National Championship.]
[You have overcome the ‘Divine State of Madness.’]
[The system recognizes the evolution potential of your talent ‘Go.’]
[Congratulations. Your Realm of Enlightenment deepens.]
[You have achieved Uninterrupted Victory in all National Championship matches. If you achieve Uninterrupted Victory in Game 2 as well, the first of its kind achievement will be added.]
[Subsequently, achievements will be added to your rewards.]
‘Uninterrupted Victory achievement?’
I drew a slow breath.
Truthfully, until now I hadn’t been conscious of winning through uninterrupted victories.
Whether I won by one point or a hundred, there was no difference.
But.
‘……If I said I wasn’t tempted, I’d be lying.’
Of course, it wouldn’t be easy.
My opponent was Tsu Hao, a professional at the very peak of the world.
Still, it was well worth the challenge.
‘I broke his mental state today, after all.’
Sometimes, I noticed, this system didn’t stint on unexpected rewards.
Only, however, when I had taken on a truly difficult challenge.
I quietly closed the system notification and rose from my seat.
Then, together with a staff member, I made my way to the Press Conference Hall on the second floor.
As I took my assigned seat before the photo wall, the waiting reporters’ attention locked on me.
The moderator offered the first greeting.
“Congratulations on your victory in Game 1, Kim In-ha. We’d appreciate your thoughts on today’s match.”
I gripped the microphone and faced forward.
And spoke very simply.
“It was a difficult match through the middle game. To be honest, I was in a losing position. But I believed I could win…… and as you can see, I did.”
I spoke the plain truth.
There was no need for false modesty, nor any reason to boast.
The moderator nodded and passed the question to a reporter who had raised his hand.
“The crucial move in your victory today was the Subtle Move at the double axis point — the Jinshintou. I understand that move is counted among the finest in Go history. Did you see that move from the beginning?”
I nodded.
“Yes, I saw it.”
“Then you were deliberately guiding Tsu Hao to place his stone at that axis?”
Another question from the reporter.
I could see plainly what answer he wanted to hear.
I gave him what he was looking for.
“Yes. That was my intention. I read that move, and Tsu Hao did not. Ultimately, that difference decided the game.”
The difference in Move Reading.
That meant I had played better Go than Tsu Hao and was the stronger player.
The microphone passed to another reporter.
“What are your thoughts on Tsu Hao’s unsportsmanlike behavior?”
“……I think such things can happen, but I’d appreciate it if he’d observe better etiquette.”
At my remark, the Korean reporters let out soft laughter.
By contrast, the Chinese reporters’ faces went dark.
Their champion had lost at Go, which already stung; now to have his manners questioned too — they couldn’t hide their expressions.
The moderator posed the final question.
“You’re known as a player who employs many Subtle Moves, Kim In-ha. Should we expect moves like the Jinshintou in Game 2 as well?”
At that, I smiled faintly and nodded.
“You can look forward to it.”
I laughed quietly.
“……Even if I wanted to stop, my Go wouldn’t let me. That’s precisely why.”
With the interview finished, I set down the microphone quietly.
Camera shutters erupted in rapid succession.
My confident smile and words, left behind in that moment, deeply shook the atmosphere of the National Championship finals.

* * *
—Game 2 of the 60th DN Auto National Championship Final.
The same hour as yesterday.
The same place as yesterday.
The only difference was that I, who had held black yesterday, now held white.
I quietly smoothed my fingertips to ease the tension.
There was no pleasant tremor like before.
I was remarkably calm, and my mind was serene.
‘…Play as you always do.’
Complacency was dangerous.
Tsu Hao was a professional who excelled in reverse play matches.
Especially in Best-of-3 Format—he had countless examples of bouncing back with consecutive victories after an opening loss.
The reason he won consistently at major world championships each year was precisely that killer instinct.
In China, they even called him the “Emperor of Reverse Play.”
‘Yesterday’s influence won’t be completely gone, but…’
Still, relying on the opponent’s mistakes wasn’t my style.
My Go wins through skill alone.
Click.
Tsu Hao played the opening move.
Star Point.
I claimed the diagonal star point and studied his response.
A 3-3 Invasion followed immediately after.
He secured the corner, then approached at the Small Point Opening, balancing both material and influence.
The smell of combat was already in the air.
Today’s Opening Strategy from Tsu Hao was orchestrated for exactly this.
Rough and rapid annexation.
Force displayed openly across the board.
Moves that reassembled AI Opening Strategy through human intuition and rhythm.
‘…His opening is a step ahead of mine.’
I acknowledged it plainly.
The depth of research was different.
I’d studied AI Opening Strategy, but I couldn’t match his sense.
However.
‘From mid-game onward, it changes.’
I accepted the flow as it came.
The disadvantage from the opening had long since been erased from my mind.
I constructed the board, seeing the decisive moment dozens of moves ahead.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The moves grew shorter in succession.
Sixty minutes for each player.
A time limit that was neither Long Consideration nor Rapid Play—something in between.
But this game could no longer be described as “Rapid Play.”
Click.
Tsu Hao made the first probing move.
He capped a single white stone in attrition like swinging an axe.
‘There it is.’
He was challenging me to fight.
No refined flow, no quiet probing phase.
His intention was crystal clear.
He was forcing a confrontation.
‘Why would I avoid it?’
I was almost grateful.
I met him without hesitation.
In the fight, my sense sharpened.
Every stone seemed to be breathing.
Click.
Tight engagement.
No complete formations, no settled territories.
Stones tangled with stones, groups knotted together in chaos.
Each move was a provocation.
Each move was a threat.
Both of us reached for the other’s throat, neither giving ground.
The Board State appeared even.
One mistake would decide the match.
Click.
Tsu Hao accelerated the tempo.
Sharper moves. More dangerous ones.
An all-out attacking sequence.
A declaration of willingness to take risks, and confidence in victory.
‘You’re mistaken about something.’
I laughed quietly to myself.
To Black’s aggressive move, I responded without hesitation.
A move that appeared to cling, as if seeking connection.
A move that found White’s escape route rather than pursuing attack.
The moment the stone touched the board, Tsu Hao’s eyes wavered for an instant.
‘……Breakthrough is the greatest attack of all.’
A flawless counter-strike.
A reversal that turned the entire board state on its head.
Tsu Hao’s expression twisted with unease.
He bit his lip, his left hand tapping against his knee.
After a long consideration, he attacked again, this time with force.
But I held firm with supple intuition and feeling, unhurried.
A precarious board state, like walking on thin ice.
Yet it did not crumble.
Which meant one thing: fatal for Black.
‘I’ve taken the advantage.’
It was the moment that certainty was hardening into conviction.
“We will pause the match for a moment.”
The referee’s voice cut through the silence.
An abrupt halt to play.
Everyone looked up.
The referee, accompanied by an interpreter, approached Tsu Hao carefully.
His expression darkened with displeasure at the interruption while the board state tilted in his favor.
“Tsu Hao.”
The referee’s words came through the interpreter.
I didn’t bother waiting for the translation.
I’d heard it clearly enough on my own.
“You failed to place your captured stones in your own container lid.”
The referee pointed to two white stones lying on the floor beneath the Go Board.
“This regulation has been in effect since last year and was notified to all tournament participants. Due to the improper handling of captured stones, we will issue one warning and deduct two points from your score.”
“You’re talking nonsense!”
Tsu Hao shot to his feet, voice thundering.
His face flushed with shock and rage.
“We have no such rule in our country!”
I’d heard of this before.
In China, captured stones could be placed anywhere without significantly affecting the final count.
But Korea was different.
There had been several cases where Chinese players lost points in scoring precisely because they didn’t know this regulation.
The referee spoke again, his face unyielding.
“It is official tournament regulation. We will deduct two points and proceed with scoring.”
“What kind of absurd rule is this!”
Tsu Hao could no longer contain himself, thrashing about in fury.
His face twisted with grievance and indignation, as if he might lose his mind.
A sharp curse escaped him.
A crisp Korean expletive, once again.
Jaw clenched, he turned his head sharply.
Toward me.
His gaze burning with hostility.
As if a single regulation had robbed him of victory entirely.
I did not look away from that stare.
I met it head-on instead.
I took a moment to steady my breath, then turned quietly to the referee and spoke.
“Let it be.”
“Pardon?”
The referee lifted his head, as if seeking clarification.
I continued slowly, choosing my words with care.
“I didn’t want to hear that I won because of a penalty. If you could just note it as a caution, I’d be grateful.”
The interpreter relayed my words to Tsu Hao.
His face stiffened.
For a moment, his eyes held the look of someone at a loss for words.
It was the expression only a person whose pride had been wounded could wear.
Yet strangely, I felt no pity.
I smiled quietly to myself, very faintly.
‘……I didn’t want to give him an excuse.’

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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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