I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 90

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

Too Much Lucrative Talent · Episode 90
Dawn.
They say the darkest hour comes just before first light.
The surroundings were still dim, and the headlights stretched long through the gaps between streetlamps.
Seated behind the wheel, I pressed steadily on the accelerator.
Soft classical music drifted from the radio, but I switched it off almost at once.
Yesterday I’d met with the youngest writer from The Masked Singer and confirmed my appearance.
The first stage would be a duet competition in round one.
Participants wear masks even during practice so no one knows each other’s identities.
A stage where you compete with nothing but your voice, your name and face hidden away.
“…My singing ability does make me a little nervous, though.”
I remembered myself singing my signature song on The Last Song.
Honestly, I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.
If it had been a raw live performance without auto-tune or mixing, I’d have worried about the audience’s eardrums.
Still, I decided to appear because the production team had given the matter serious consideration.
They’d introduce me to a vocal trainer and, though the time is short, promised to work on the fundamentals of breathing and vocal technique.
On top of that, they said they’d provide custom-tailored production suited to my song choice.
Not that I’m aiming to be champion anyway.
If it’s just a stage to make myself known, this much isn’t bad at all.
Above all, Jung Soo-yeon approved my appearance this time. There was no reason to put it off any longer.
“But what matters more is today.”
I turned the steering wheel and drove into the General Sports Complex.
By then the sky had brightened considerably, and the surroundings were quite luminous.
Where I’d arrived today was the Gangwon-do Jumong International Archery Range.
This was where the second round of the National Representative selection trials for Compound Archery were being held.
As I stepped out of the car, cold air surged deep into my lungs.
“The weather’s nice.”
It was clear.
But the wind was a problem.
The distinctive topography of Gangwon Province, and the season sliding into winter.
A biting wind on the cusp of the cold season.
Sharp, frigid gusts scraped across my cheeks.
It seemed likely that even the smallest adjustment in my setup could cause me to miss the target entirely.
What was fortunate was the near-complete absence of humidity.
The minute friction between arrow and bow.
Even that tiny margin of error has to be factored into the calculation.
‘…Everyone’s probably going to score high.’
Which meant that even a small mistake could decide the match.
Sharpening my focus, I slung my equipment bag over my shoulder and headed toward the arena.
“Huh? What?”
There were crowds visible from the entrance itself.
Fewer than half the participants from round one, yet the venue was somehow even more packed.
‘What’s going on?’
I found the situation odd myself.
As I walked a little further into the arena, I realized they were all journalists.
Camera flashes.
Video journalists setting up tripods.
Reporters with recording devices.
Among them was a familiar face.
“…Gu? Is that you?”
My eyes widened in surprise.
Permed hair, a shabby cross-body bag.
Dark circles extending below the eyes.
It was Gu Jun-mo, a reporter from Baduk Communication, the Go specialist publication.
“Oh? You came, Master?”
He greeted me in that familiar tone of his.
“What brings you here?”
“What do you think? I came to cover the story.”
“…Cover it?”
Bewildered, I looked around.
Sports journalists, Go TV, entertainment reporters, even Chinese Go TV.
I’m not easily rattled by much, but this caught me off guard.
Seeing my reaction, the reporters descended as if they’d been waiting for this moment.
“How’s your condition today, Master Kim?”
“Are you confident about this preliminary tournament?”
“……There’s talk that you’re aiming to represent the nation in both Go and Compound Archery at the Asian Games—do you think it’s possible?”
Questions and gazes poured down.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thrown.
Though I had anticipated it to some degree.
After “The Last Song,” Go, archery, and variety shows too.
Curiosity, interest, and expectations about ‘Kim In-ha’ as a person had truly surfaced.
‘……I get my share of attention, but has Compound Archery ever been scrutinized like this?’
Frankly, never.
Most people don’t even know the difference between recurve and compound bows.
The reality is that interest only spikes during the Olympics.
That was the reality of overlooked sports in our country.
I tilted my head slightly and spoke quietly.
“Everyone, please compose yourselves first.”
The questions subsided momentarily.
“I’ll make time to accommodate interviews as much as possible. However, I ask that you be considerate so that other athletes aren’t disrupted.”
At that, some reporters nodded sheepishly and stepped back.
The flashes went out.
People who knew where to draw the line.
That was a relief.
An archery association staff member with an ID badge hurried over.
“We’ve set up a photo wall over there, so you could conduct the interview from there. Shall I show you the way?”
“Yes.”
Quick response.
The reputation that they’re the most efficient domestic federation wasn’t unwarranted.
I moved locations under the staff member’s guidance.
I was guided to a new spot, and more than a dozen reporters trailed after me.
In front of the photo wall.
Tripods were set up, microphones positioned, a brief silence. Then the interview began.
“How’s your condition today?”
“Excellent.”
Managing your condition is part of your skill.
“Korean archery is world-class. They say the national team selection is harder than winning medals at world competitions—are you confident about passing the second preliminary?”
“It won’t be easy, but I’ll challenge it with confidence. And it’s not archery in general—it’s the Compound Archery discipline.”
To the reporter who’d simply chased my celebrity, I made it clear.
That my stage was the ‘Compound Archery’ discipline.
“Lastly, could we hear some words from Kim In-ha about the Compound Archery discipline?”
“……My words? Ah, that?”
Several reporters nodded, their eyes brightening.
My identity.
My competitive philosophy.
And my signature phrase.
You’d think it would wear thin by now, but apparently not yet.
I met that expectation with a smile.
“I’ll keep shooting until I lose.”

* * *
The ones most surprised at the venue were the archery association officials.
Until just moments ago, the atmosphere had been relatively quiet.
But the moment Kim In-ha arrived, everything changed.
There were only sixteen participants.
Yet the venue was more crowded than ever.
Far more reporters than expected had descended.
They quickly assessed the situation and immediately installed a photo wall with control lines.
They divided the space so interviews wouldn’t disrupt the athletes, and adjusted the traffic flow as well.
“……The chaos is something, but I have to admit, this is good in its own way.”
A staff member watching the bustling reporters muttered under their breath.
The association’s marketing director beside them chuckled quietly and nodded.
“Exactly. It reminds me of the World Championship we held a few years back.”
They knew comparing a preliminary round to a world championship was a stretch, yet the atmosphere here was undeniably abnormal.
Then came the sharp click of approaching footsteps.
Short-cropped hair, immaculate formal attire.
It was Jang Yi-seo, division head of Myungjin Group — South Korea’s largest corporation and the official sponsor of the Archery Association.
“That’s what we call star power.”
She spoke evenly.
The association staff and marketing director scrambled to greet her.
“Oh, Director Jang.”
“Welcome.”
Jang Yi-seo nodded lightly in return.
The three of them had worked together on promotional matters for years.
She glanced toward the swirl of cameras, flags, and reporters clustering around Kim In-ha.
The broadcast of “The Final Song” had aired just before the Compound Archery National Representative Secondary Selection, of all times.
As the show became the talk of the nation, Kim In-ha’s name shot up the portal real-time search rankings.
The ripple effect drew many people’s interest to Compound Archery.
Combined with Kim In-ha’s personal fame, the venue had begun to attract not just reporters, but also a small but noticeable number of YouTube content creators and streamers.
It was a sight rarely seen even at world championships.
“…… YouTube live-stream viewers have already exceeded 600.”
“Already?”
The marketing director’s eyes widened in surprise.
The actual competition hadn’t even begun yet.
Normally, a broadcast like this would be watched by no one but the athletes’ families.
Once Kim In-ha stepped up to the shooting line, the viewer count would likely climb even higher.
Jang Yi-seo’s expression grew complicated.
“The promotional effect we’ve been trying to achieve for years, spending hundreds of millions of won…… Kim In-ha is generating it all by himself.”
The Archery Association had always used famous archers who performed well at the Olympics as promotional models.
But they knew its limitations better than anyone.
A sports star’s value doesn’t come from competitive results alone.
Even gold medals are forgotten after a season.
Entertainment, narrative, multidimensional appeal.
The constituent elements that can capture people’s attention and interest.
Kim In-ha possessed all these qualities.
Especially.
‘His quotes are remarkable.’
His interviews draw people in.
They create anticipation.
They make people want to keep watching.
Even Jang Yi-seo, who didn’t know the first thing about Go, had watched his interview clips multiple times.
In the end, everything Kim In-ha had built — all his exposure — had created this ‘reporter rush’ at the venue.
“It may be temporary, but to witness the moment when a single athlete’s recognition transforms the status of an entire sport…… I never thought I’d see this with my own eyes.”
Her words carried complex emotion.
Admiration, surprise, and a hint of deflation.
No one said it outright, but everyone present understood.
They could only hope for a miracle, but if Kim In-ha made the National Representative team….
They expected the impact would be even greater.
They all genuinely hoped Kim In-ha would pass this secondary selection through raw talent and become a National Representative.

* * *
“We will now begin the Compound Archery National Representative Secondary Selection. Participants, please take your assigned positions at the shooting lines.”
As the announcement echoed through the venue, I gathered my equipment and headed toward the shooting line.
I was assigned to Lane One.
Myself, who placed first in the primary selection, and Kang Jae-young, who placed second, would stand side by side here.
‘…… Forty this year, and he was a National Representative until the year before last.’
The man called the eldest of the Compound representative team.
The memory surfaced from an article I’d seen.
I fixed my gaze straight ahead. The target came into soft focus.
Three arrows per end, five ends total.
Five rounds a day, over three days—that was the schedule.
Based on these scores, points would be awarded, and the final four National Representatives for the Winter Camp would be selected.
“Exhale.”
I steadied my breathing and picked up the Compound Bow.
I checked the settings with practiced ease, then drew the bowstring and fixed my sight line.
The air was clear but cold.
The wind wasn’t consistent.
It shifted quickly, irregular and directionless.
‘This much is easy.’
I didn’t calculate.
I felt it.
I relied on sensation.
That was my way—my Talent.
Beep!
The signal sounded.
The rule was simple: one arrow within twenty seconds.
‘First shot.’
Thwang!
No tremor.
The arrow, nocked precisely at the Nocking Point, didn’t merely ride the wind but tore through it, embedding itself in the target.
“X-Ten.”
The official behind me checking the scope called out the score.
I drew the bowstring again without hesitation.
Second shot.
The grain of the wind had shifted slightly.
The sensation against my left jaw, the flow brushing the back of my hand, a subtle tremor along the diagonal—
I detected that minute difference and adjusted my angle.
Release.
Thwang!
A trembling certainty of a hit.
“X-Ten.”
I drew in a slow breath and nocked the final arrow.
Beside me, on the adjacent Shooting Line, I heard Kang Jae-young’s bow snap, but I didn’t let it distract me.
Only this one shot.
Focus.
The last arrow of the first End.
Speed and angle, sensation and wind.
I waited for that perfect ‘moment’ when all conditions aligned.
Release.
The instant it left my fingertips, certainty flooded through me.
Crack!
A splitting sound.
Small, distinct, somehow strange.
“X, X-Ten… but this is……”
The official trailed off, still staring through the scope.
I lowered my bow and looked directly through the Scope to see the target myself.
I’d fired three arrows. Only two were visible in the target.
The third arrow had split the shaft of the one before it clean down the middle and embedded itself there.
What they call the Arrow Splitting.
A Robin Hood Shot.
I lowered my bow and smiled quietly.
“…… Well, I’m definitely making a scene today.”

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————