I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 87

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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 – Episode 087
‘……I don’t want to give him an excuse to complain.’
The studio fell silent.
Tsu Hao’s eyebrows twitched, and the Referee looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.
But I was sincere.
I didn’t want to win this game by the rules.
I wanted to win with my moves alone, with my skill alone.
‘I’m confident enough.’
After a brief silence, I approached the Referee and Supervisor.
After a brief silence, the Referee moved toward the Supervisor and exchanged words with a grave expression.
Then, a nod of agreement.
Moments later, the Referee returned to his seat and spoke.
“Understood. I’ll issue a warning only, with no penalty points. You may resume the match.”
One caution on the record.
It would remain in the official documentation, but the element that could affect the outcome had vanished.
I nodded.
The Referee himself removed the Game Record Cover that had been placed over the Go Board.
Even then, Tsu Hao remained motionless, standing in place.
His lips pressed tight, tension flooding his right hand.
A face that couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.
Eyes that refused to accept it.
And an expression growing steadily more furious.
‘I got to him.’
Tsu Hao was a competitor with fierce pride.
He would have taken my goodwill as an insult.
And that was exactly what I’d intended.
To keep him from saying he’d lost behind the excuse of regulations.
A calculated provocation to sit him back down at this board.
My prediction proved precisely correct.
Tsu Hao, who had been standing still, turned coldly away.
His face expressionless.
Yet the turmoil of emotion beneath was unmistakable.
Without a word, he sat down in his chair.
He grasped a black stone and stared down at the board as if he could burn through it.
Click.
The sound of it striking sharply.
A stone placement charged with emotion.
It was a powerful move that carried his fierce determination to reverse the losing position and defeat me.
But my eyes saw it.
The faint fracture hidden within that fierce move.
I quietly picked up a stone.
Taking a shallow breath, I placed my move on the battlefield that had only just begun again.
Click.
As the stone settled, the match that had halted began to flow once more.
‘……Time to widen the gap.’
Today’s match wouldn’t be decided by half a point or one point.
I intended to press him relentlessly until he judged a reversal impossible and resigned.
That way, for certain—
‘A Resignation Victory.’
I would force Tsu Hao to throw down his stones.

* * *
‘Damn it.’
Inside Tsu Hao, curses bubbled up without end.
Beyond his subdued facade, his inner world boiled with uncontrollable fury.
This wasn’t a simple match.
This was a matter of pride.
Anyone could see: he had been certain he would win.
So the way he’d just done it—pretending sympathy, feigning goodwill, dismissing him outright—it was contempt.
‘You look at me with eyes like that?’
He stood while I sat before the Go board.
Yet that downward gaze—that way of looking down on me—rubbed me raw.
‘……I will win. No matter what, I will win.’
Obsession beyond mere obsession filled my mind.
I had to win.
Otherwise, all of this would become nothing but humiliation upon humiliation.
But the board state was poor.
Fully four points behind.
The expected win rate would be around thirty percent, if that.
‘I’ll overturn the board.’
Tsu Hao clenched his teeth.
He poured emotion into every stone.
Each move—slicing, stabbing, gouging.
He threw everything into the game: all his rage, all his obsession.

* * *
“Wait—what’s this?”
Park Ji-man’s voice faltered.
His eyes tracked rapidly across the screen.
Tsu Hao’s expression twisting.
The referee stared at Kim In-ha as if bewildered.
After a brief discussion, the interpreter had been called in.
Park Ji-man quickly checked the situation on the monitor, then continued in a bewildered tone.
“……What? In-ha just requested to cancel the penalty? What is this? He said it directly. He just wants it to stay.”
On screen, Tsu Hao sat back down in his chair.
Kim In-ha’s expression was serene; Tsu Hao held his jaw tight.
“Sigh……In-ha, you really are something.”
Park Ji-man gripped what little hair remained on his head with one hand.
“Why do you always take the harder road when an easier one is right there? Do you love watching Baduk fans’ hearts break that much?”
The resurrected tradition and symbolism of the National Go Championship.
The expectation that a domestic player would win.
The desire, especially, not to lose to Tsu Hao.
And yet.
Kim In-ha still would not take the easy path.
“But then again, that’s our In-ha for you. It was the same with the cheating scandal, wasn’t it? A player who creates disadvantage for himself and proves himself by winning anyway. Now that I say it out loud, that’s genuinely cool.”
A warm smile bloomed across Park Ji-man’s face.
The venue settled back into tension.
With the referee’s signal to resume, the two players faced each other once more.
Tap.
Tsu Hao’s stone placement.
Emotion vibrated through his fingertips as he set it down.
An aggressive move that never looked back.
“Whew, this is vicious. His mental state could falter, and yet to play such a move here. Tsu Hao’s playing well.”
Black pressed forward with determination.
A powerful move aimed at shaking the board at all costs.
Striking and pushing back.
Skipping the exchange and striking directly to rattle the position.
Then came Kim In-ha’s answering move.
“Huh? What’s this? It looks like a retreat, but……he’s still eyeing the back perfectly.”
Kim In-ha evaded.
He did not take the direct response.
He lured his opponent’s group forward, then quietly leaned against the black stones.
“That’s……wickedly played.”
Park Ji-man let out a small chuckle and turned on the DeepStone reference, explaining as he did.
“In-ha just keeps poking. No decisive blow—just threats, warnings: grow here and I’ll strike. Tsu Hao’s blood must be running backward. He’s already behind, and he has no idea where the knife will come from.”
Tsu Hao’s jaw hardened.
His eyes swept the board rapidly, and faint tremors ran through his pupils.
Black’s moves kept subtly off-angle.
No matter how hard he provoked, his opponent dodged; no matter where he stabbed, he slipped through.
“Wow, he’s playing like a demon. Our In-ha.”
The chat window erupted.
[Kim In-ha, or should I say National Go Master Kim now.]
[Justice itself. If he wins playing like this, who could possibly have anything to say?]
[The Chinese will. That’s what kind of people they are.]
[Brutally skilled play. Like the instructor said, he might just break through Jung Si-hu’s 9-dan dominance…….]
Black attempted another desperate invasion.
In-ha responded lightly, as if he’d anticipated it.
Yet that response became a disaster for Black.
Tsu Hao, 9-dan, bit down on his lip and countered with a forcing move, but In-ha’s stone landed with precision—a blade cutting clean through.
Click.
The stone settled down gently, like a butterfly.
But for Black, it was no stone—it was a death sentence.
“This move…….”
Park Ji-man applauded quietly.
A sincere gesture of admiration.
“There it is. Grinding his spirit to powder without mercy. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s over. No matter where Black plays, he’s in zugzwang.”
It wasn’t quite like the Divine Mysterious Move from the first game, but it was decisive enough.
A single move that rendered further resistance, further defiance, even final desperation meaningless.
It was enough to shatter Tsu Hao’s will to fight.
Park Ji-man smiled contentedly.
“In-ha, or rather—from now on it’s National Go Master Kim. Congratulations on your championship, National Go Master Kim!”
The toast came a shade early, but no one objected.
DeepStone’s expected win rate: 98%.
In-ha’s victory was already a foregone conclusion.

* * *
There’s nowhere left to play.
Anything more would just be neutral territory.
Now there was no room for any reversal.
‘……Even counting the handicap, a gap of seven and a half points.’
The outcome was already decided.
At this margin, the final score count itself was meaningless.
Playing on would only prolong the humiliation.
Tsu Hao, 9-dan, likely understood that.
He understood it, yet he couldn’t bring himself to resign.
The defeat was simply too humiliating.
Besides, I’d even removed the penalty on him that the rules would have imposed—the handicap he suffered.
I left him no excuse to hide behind.
Which made this defeat all the more brutal for him.
A game lost entirely by skill.
A match that had shattered his pride.
Then came a brief silence.
Scrape!
Tsu Hao seized the loose stones from the cover and irritably hurled them into the Go Stone Container.
The stones didn’t scatter outside, but the black and white stones inside clattered and tangled together.
Blatant poor manners, by anyone’s standard.
And a clear sign he had no intention of playing further.
Even I felt my brow furrow.
Tsu Hao stood abruptly, his irritation plain.
Without meeting my gaze, he turned sharply toward the exit of the Studio.
“You play Baduk poorly, and your manners are just as bad.”
I let the words slip out casually.
But the volume was clearly audible.
The moment I finished, Tsu Hao’s footsteps stopped.
He turned his head slowly.
His eyes sharpened, boring into my face.
“What did you just say?”
Tsu Hao let out a low rumble.
Rage bristled on the edge of eruption.
I didn’t look away from his stare.
Instead, I met his gaze head-on and added one more thing.
“You lost at Baduk, lost at dignity, lost as a person.”
In that instant, Tsu Hao’s jaw trembled.
Shame.
Rage.
Humiliation.
All of it tangled together, rising to the breaking point with a single phrase.
“……Damn it.”
In Korean.
The accent flawless, the pronunciation immaculate.
He could hold back no longer and spun his head away sharply.
He strode toward the exit in long, heavy steps.
No one called after him to stop, and no one could have held him back.
I stood quietly, watching the empty doorway, and drew a steady breath.
—Ding!
The familiar system notification chimed.
A line I’d been waiting for appeared in the ‘Career’ section.
[You have won the 60th DN Automobile National Go Championship.]
[Congratulations. You have risen to become the thirteenth National Go Master.]
A message that never got old, no matter how many times I saw it.
A record left behind by the history I’d written as a professional Baduk player.
[You have defeated the ‘Mad Prodigy’.]
[You have won all matches of the National Go Championship through Resignation Victory.]
[Congratulations. Bonus points have been awarded for this first-time achievement.]
[The system has confirmed the evolution potential of your Baduk talent.]
[Congratulations. Your ‘Realm of Enlightenment’ deepens.]
[Congratulations. Your ‘Realm of Enlightenment’ expands in part.]
[The mind game ‘Chess’ talent begins to sprout.]
[Your ‘Chess’ talent is rated C+.]
[This talent is not connected to your ‘Primary Job’ or ‘Talent Maintenance Conditions’.]
‘Chess?’
I laughed without thinking.
After Shogi, now Chess too.
At this point, Baduk was no mere talent.
It was a seam of ore in itself.
Branching outward, connecting, and serving as the axis around which other talents were discovered.
The system messages kept pushing upward.
[Achievement bonus calculation is complete.]
[Additional reward calculation is complete.]
[Congratulations. You have received a Platinum Roulette Ticket.]
[Congratulations. You have received a Gold Roulette Ticket.]
[System function unlocked. Usage options for Gold and Platinum Roulette Tickets have expanded.]
[By consuming a Roulette Ticket, you can convert ‘Talent Roulette’ slots to public view.]
[By consuming a Roulette Ticket, you can increase the number of ‘Talent Roulette’ slots.]
‘Wait, hold on. This actually…… works?’
Until now, the roulette had spun only within fixed slots.
A system I’d thought was pure chance.
Now I could lay hands on it myself.

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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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