I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 93

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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 Profitable Talents 093
I passed through the lobby and made my way toward the awards ceremony hall.
The entrance to the Convention Hall was already crowded.
Tripods with cameras set up at angles.
Journalists buzzing with anticipation.
And professional players in crisp suits exchanged greetings from their respective positions.
The grand finale of the year.
That atmosphere filled the entire space.
“Oh? Gugsu Kim, you’ve arrived? This way, please.”
A Korea Baduk Association staff member approached and greeted me warmly.
He promptly guided me toward the photo wall.
Moments later, another professional player, awkwardly posed after finishing an interview, stepped into the awards hall.
I steadied my breath and took my place before the photo wall.
The lights intensified.
Flashes began going off relentlessly.
I faced forward in a familiar pose.
Naturally turning my head, I captured profile shots as well.
By now, I knew exactly how to be photographed.
‘This is ridiculous… I’m getting used to it.’
As the photo session ended, the master of ceremonies, who had been waiting to the side, approached.
She was Mun Ga-yeon, a Go specialist caster.
“One of tonight’s stars of the Korean Baduk Awards has arrived. A name that set the Go world ablaze this year. It’s Gugsu Kim In-ha!”
Applause poured down at her bright introduction.
Under the pouring lights, I quietly accepted the microphone.
“This year truly belonged to Kim In-ha. You’ve also been nominated for the Grand Prize. We’d love to hear your thoughts.”
I raised the microphone to my lips quietly.
“It’s an honor. And I’m deeply grateful to Daemyung Corporation for creating this platform for the Go community.”
A measured response, yet one carrying genuine appreciation toward my sponsor.
And beneath it all lay a calculated move to raise my own value.
Watching me, Mun Ga-yeon smiled with satisfaction.
“Currently, you’re leading in viewer votes for the Popularity Award. What do you think is the secret to your popularity?”
I paused thoughtfully before speaking slowly.
“My looks, perhaps?”
“Pardon?”
“I’m joking. I’m grateful that so many people have come to love my playing style and approach to the game.”
I smiled faintly and looked toward the camera.
Another burst of flashes and shutter clicks.
Several prepared questions followed after that.
“This is the final question. The year has come to a close. Should we look forward to even greater achievements from you next year?”
The closing question.
I raised the microphone as if I’d been waiting for it.
“Yes. I have high expectations for myself as well. How far I can climb… please keep watching.”
Confident in tone.
With a subtle smile added to it.
A soft exclamation rippled through the journalists.
As if they’d been waiting for precisely this kind of answer.
I watched quietly for a moment, then gently lowered the microphone and bowed respectfully.
The shutter sound erupted again, and I descended from the photo wall, stepping into the awards hall.
An expansive hall with a grand chandelier suspended overhead.
The high ceiling made the space resonate.
The stage, podium, and VIP tables were arranged with ceremonial precision.
“Gugsu Kim!”
A voice calling from behind.
I turned to see the Branch Manager waving with a broad smile.
Golden necktie, impeccable formal attire.
He had the bearing of an executive from the Korea Baduk Association attending the ceremony.
“You came?”
“Of course! How could I not when you’ve invited me to an occasion like this? Ha.”
In the Branch Manager’s eyes, which never lost their smile, emotion was evident.
“Only two people could be invited… but I absolutely wanted to bring you.”
“I’m grateful, but your parents aren’t disappointed?”
“It’s fine. The store can’t run itself. They said they’d watch it on TV.”
Recently, even I had barely been able to see my parents’ faces.
Ice Cream Tteokbokki had become a massive hit, and word of mouth had brought even more customers through the door.
“I’m so glad it’s doing well.”
“We can talk about that later. You should look around, get some autographs, take some photos.”
“That’s all right?”
“That’s why I invited you.”
The Branch Manager nodded repeatedly, then headed off to survey the venue.
That was when it happened.
The moment I stood alone again, someone approached as though they’d been waiting.
“Kim In-ha, Gugsu. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
A stranger’s voice.
Polite, yet sharp in tone.
“This is our first meeting. I’m Oh Jung-guk, Executive Director of Daemyung Corporation.”
He extended his hand courteously.
I accepted the handshake and bowed slightly.
“Congratulations on becoming an Olympic national representative.”
“Thank you.”
A brief exchange of pleasantries and good wishes followed.
Then came the main point.
“Actually, I was thinking of arranging a meeting sometime. Would you have time?”
“A meeting?”
He nodded at my question.
“Yes. We at Daemyung Corporation are looking for a partner to work with.”
Partner.
He’d softened the language, but I caught the drift immediately.
‘A sponsorship proposal.’
I knew Daemyung was also sponsoring next year’s New Year match between me and Oh Soo, 9-dan.
That was when—
“Forgive me for interrupting. Kim, might you discuss sponsorship matters with me instead?”
A refined yet businesslike voice.
Calm and precise in tone.
As I turned, Jung Soo-yeon, the team leader, approached with an assured bearing.
A style that matched the award ceremony’s atmosphere perfectly.
Neither overdone nor understated.
“Forgive me, but who are you?”
Jung Soo-yeon pulled out a business card from her bag and handed it over.
“I’m Jung Soo-yeon, Head of INHIVE, which handles Kim In-ha’s management.”
She offered a composed smile and bowed slightly.
“Shall we discuss this elsewhere?”
For just an instant, Oh Jung-guk’s expression stiffened.
“Of course.”
Oh Jung-guk collected himself briefly, then responded with practiced ease.
With the familiarity of someone accustomed to such situations, he followed Jung Soo-yeon without hesitation.
Watching their retreating figures, I allowed myself a quiet smile.
INHIVE.
A brand name combining my given name “Inha” and the neologism “Hive.”
The meaning was simple.
Content gathering around me as its center.
When Jung Soo-yeon first proposed the company name, I honestly found it embarrassing.
But the more I saw it, the more it stuck with me, and the more I explained it, the more convincing it became.
‘Leave it to me.’
Jung Soo-yeon gave me a light, knowing glance, then confidently led Oh Jung-guk away to find a suitable spot.
Reliable.
Not merely a manager, but a partner in designing my brand itself.
That’s the feeling I had.
I watched their backs with quiet satisfaction, when someone else approached, as though they’d been waiting for just this moment.
“Kim In-ha, Gugsu. How wonderful to meet you. I’m Chen Weilin, head coach of the Shanhua team in the Chinese A-League.”
The Chinese A-League.
It’s the top professional league in Chinese Go.
Sixteen teams compete, and it hosts the world’s greatest players.
A promotion-and-relegation system exists down to the third division, and the prize money is staggering.
Korea’s and Japan’s top players participate as foreign mercenaries, and it’s well-known domestically.
“I heard you speak Chinese.”
“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I answered naturally in Chinese.
“Would you ever consider joining our team as a foreign mercenary?”
“……I thought the Chinese side didn’t view me favorably?”
I had clashed emotionally with Chinese players.
As a result, I knew public opinion in China was quite negative.
“Public opinion doesn’t matter to us. We look only at results. If Kim In-ha becomes our team’s champion mercenary, we promise him the finest treatment befitting that role.”
Chen Weilin’s expression and tone brimmed with pride.
The quiet confidence of being in the elite league was unmistakable.
Now that I thought about it, I’d heard that Jung Si-hu and Kim Eun-woo were both active in the Chinese A-League.
A single win earned a stipend equivalent to a domestic tournament championship prize, or so I’d heard.
“Think it over, and if you’re interested, contact me anytime. I’ll be waiting.”
Chen Weilin’s hand was firm as he offered his business card.
No artifice or pretense in his greeting.
The ease of a true director.
‘……I should give this serious thought.’
A league with guaranteed substantial earnings.
Moreover, there wouldn’t be that many matches.
It might be ideal for broadening my horizons and raising my profile.
Then.
“In a moment, all our honored guests are requested to be seated at their assigned locations.”
An announcement echoed through the hall.
I took the business card, exchanged a brief greeting, and made my way to my designated seat.
I was about to sit down after checking the paper nameplate on the round table when I found someone familiar already there.
“Ah.”
He noticed me too, and his gaze hesitated for a moment.
Then he rose from his seat and gave a light bow.
I returned the greeting.
“Hello.”
“Good to see you. It feels like this is the first real conversation we’ve had.”
Jung Si-hu smiled softly.
I sat down beside him.
“How are you feeling? Is your health improving?”
“Yes. Much better. Congratulations on becoming Gugsu, by the way.”
“……Thank you.”
I nodded and met his eyes.
We looked at each other directly.
After just a few words, the awkwardness had begun to fade.
“I wish we’d had a proper chance to meet sooner.”
“So do I.”
In that exchange of glances, it became clear.
Beneath the soft, composed expression lay a quiet, resolute strength.
The ease and dignity that only the strong possess.
He turned his head to face me.
“I hope this year we’ll have a chance to play against each other at least once.”
“I’m looking forward to it as well.”
I smiled back.
Soon, the lights in the hall dimmed slowly and grand music began to play.
The Korean Baduk Awards ceremony had begun.
Mun Ga-yeon’s voice came through the microphone.
“A year of black and white warfare on the board. The fierce competition between professional Go players. Here at tonight’s awards ceremony, sponsored by Daemyung Corporation, we gather to celebrate and encourage our esteemed players.”
After the long introduction, a video recounting the year played on the large screen behind the stage.
The fierce domestic tournaments.
Professional players competing on the world stage.
The revival of the Gugsu Championship.
On the grand screen above, the face that appeared most frequently was mine.
The amateur’s miracle.
A destined confrontation against Chinese professionals.
The upset—Lu Queran defeating a 9-dan, Ci Hao a 9-dan.
Each moment drew the spectators’ gaze back to the Go board.
And then came my own words, quoted again and again.
‘……There’s an awful lot of me in this montage.’
Even I was taken aback.
But then again, it proved my influence had been that substantial.
Tension, emotion, shock, roaring applause.
An entire season swept past like a panorama distilled with every feeling.
“Next, we’d like to introduce our distinguished guests in attendance at today’s awards ceremony.”
Mun Ga-yeon’s composed voice resonated through the space.
Representatives from the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism.
The President of the Korea Baduk Association, key sponsors and executives.
A formal introduction followed, and the main awards ceremony finally began.
“First up is the Technical Development Award, given to the player who achieved the greatest improvement year-over-year.”
Starting with the Technical Development Award, then the Most Wins Award and Best Female Player Award—various winners took the stage.
And then.
“Next is the Popularity Award. Selected based on video views, media mentions, and box office appeal—the recipient is…… Kim In-ha, Gugsu!”
Clap clap.
Applause and cheers erupted from scattered corners of the audience.
Camera flashes burst forth again.
I rose quietly from my seat and made my way to the stage.
The Popularity Award.
The most accessible category.
And for me, it was my first trophy—more meaningful than any other recognition could have been.
“Now then, let’s hear from Kim In-ha, Gugsu. How are you feeling?”
I stood holding a trophy in one hand, a bouquet and a placard reading “Prize Money: 5 Million Won” in the other, and answered.
“I’m truly grateful to receive such an honor. As I always have, I’ll continue to repay everyone with winning Go.”
Brief but heartfelt words.
Applause followed.
‘Either way, I’ll be back up there once more.’
This acceptance speech was merely a preview.
What I was after was the Grand Prize this year.
I was already among its nominees.
I stepped down from the stage quietly and returned to my seat.
“Next is the Best Excellence Award category.”
In that moment, the lights dimmed slightly and the screen behind the stage shifted.
A brief video began to play.
Three nominees.
Jung Si-hu, 9-dan.
Kim Eun-woo, 9-dan.
And me.
“The recipient of the Korean Baduk Awards’ Best Excellence Award is…….”
Suspenseful music swelled.
All eyes fixed on the screen and stage.
‘……Don’t call my name.’
That’s what I thought to myself.
If I waited, winning the Grand Prize would bring even greater rewards.
“Kim In-ha, Gugsu!”
My name echoed clearly from the speakers behind the stage.
In that moment.
—Ding!
[Congratulations. You have received the Korean Baduk Awards ‘Popularity Award’.]
[Congratulations. You have received the Korean Baduk Awards ‘Best Excellence Award’.]
[You have achieved a remarkable feat in record time. Bonus points have been awarded.]
[Congratulations. You have been granted a Platinum Roulette Ticket.]
[Congratulations. You have been granted a Gold Roulette Ticket.]
[Congratulations. You have been granted a Talent Expansion Ticket.]
‘This much is… well enough.’
To say there was no regret would be a lie.
And yet.
It was reward enough—more than enough—to turn the page forward.

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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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