I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 94

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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 Money-Making Talents Episode 094
I rose slowly from my seat.
Jung Si-hu, sitting across the table, gave a nod.
I returned a brief smile and bowed my head.
As I stepped onto the platform, the lights flooded down on me again.
The Grand Prize Trophy.
A flower bouquet.
And a prize money board reading 10 million won.
After the photographs were finished, Moon Ga-yeon’s voice as a commentator rang through the hall.
“It would not be an overstatement to say that Kim In-ha has left an indelible mark on the professional Go world this year. As an amateur, he won the Ciel Bank Championship, and he’s reached the top of the National Chess Championship. We’d love to hear your thoughts.”
I brought the microphone slowly to my lips.
“It’s been a meaningful year. Looking back…… it feels like I’ve taken a long journey. I was a bank security guard, and I became a professional Go player, and now I’ve even received this undeserved honor.”
I let a moment of silence settle.
The audience grew quiet.
In the stillness where even the camera shutters had ceased, I continued calmly.
“But…… I’m still hungry, you know?”
A small laugh rippled through the audience.
A statement brimming with confidence.
My lighthearted delivery may have sounded like a joke to them, but my words were sincere.
‘Still not enough.’
There were far too many blanks left unfilled.
The Myeonggin Championship.
The World’s Four Major Baduk Tournaments.
The newly established World Baduk Open Championship this year.
And the National Team Championship as well.
My challenge has only just begun.
“I will live next year even more brilliantly than this year. Thank you.”
I lowered the microphone and bowed my head slowly.
Beneath the pouring lights, thunderous applause erupted once more.
Among the rising audience was the Branch Manager.
As I left the stage, I felt the gazes of the other players in attendance upon me.
To them, my words had been not mere bluster, but a declaration.
The journalists typed ceaselessly on their notebooks.
Hands racing to be the first to turn my remarks into articles.
I returned quietly to my seat with a slight smile.
And then came the Grand Prize award.
“The Grand Prize of the Korean Baduk Awards goes to…… Jung Si-hu!”
Clap clap.
I applauded as well.
Jung Si-hu had every right to the honor.
But.
My eyes could not leave the grand trophy on the podium.
The place that receives all applause beneath the lights.
The award only a Go player standing at the peak of achievement could receive.
‘Next year, I won’t hold back.’
I quietly resolved my heart.

* * *
Year-end.
Things have grown considerably quieter of late.
Those frantic days feel like a lie.
The times I worked as a bank security guard, competed in Go tournaments, became a professional, and became an archery national representative.
Looking back, I still cannot fathom how any of it was possible.
Perhaps that’s why this leisure feels especially sweet.
Especially today.
Dining out with my parents for the first time in a while.
I’d made a reservation at a famous snow crab restaurant.
It’s when you stop worrying about the price when ordering food that you truly feel success.
As I picked crab meat to eat, my father asked.
“In-ha. You’ve been getting a lot of franchise offers lately. What should you do about them?”
“……A franchise? What do you two think?”
“I’ve given it some thought. But we’d need to have tried it ourselves first.”
I understood my mother’s cautious approach.
Franchising could become poison if you weren’t careful.
“I know someone who runs a franchise management company. Let me look into it and get back to you.”
The Go club, the Gi-woo Club, which I’d visited on the Branch Manager’s introduction.
I was carrying Jang Ju-young’s business card.
“See? I told you so. I said we should ask In-ha.”
“You’re right. Our son really does have a wide network.”
Both their faces glowed with satisfaction.
It had been ages since our family sat together like this, talking for so long.
A joyful, happy time.
Midway through the meal, my mother spoke up suddenly.
“Come to think of it, why didn’t we invite that young woman who came by before?”
“……Yeon-hee?”
“Yes. Isn’t she your girlfriend?”
“No. She’s just a good junior colleague.”
“Is that so? I rather liked her.”
My mother’s eyes shone with genuine regret.
She added quietly, looking at me.
“You’re thirty now. Don’t let any good women slip away. Date a little, all right?”
“Yes, Mom.”
I answered obediently, but a small echo lingered in my heart.
A good woman nearby.
Those words, which I’d never considered before, made me look around again.
‘……There are some, aren’t there.’
Lee Yeon-hee.
The woman who’d cheered me on more than anyone, who’d watched over me from close by.
Jung Soo-yeon.
My business partner who saw through matters both professional and personal with sharp clarity, walking the path alongside me.
Yu Jeuh-ha.
The woman who’d admired and cherished my Go, but one day left for Japan without a word.
‘Is she doing well?’
There had been no contact since that day, but I was still waiting.
Because I still remembered the last sentence written in the letter she’d sent me.
“Finished? Shall we head out? You said you had a schedule, didn’t you?”
I nodded and got to my feet.
After settling the bill and driving my parents home, I turned the wheel again.
And so I headed to the Masked Singer affiliated vocal academy.
According to the writer, most of the non-professional contestants trained here.
I was no exception.
Today marked my eighth lesson.
Three times a week.
The training load was anything but light.
I loosened my throat gently, then began with pitch control scales.
“Ah. Eh. Ee. Oh. Oo.”
“Slowly, please. Again.”
The instructor handling my training was Kang In-sung.
In week one, I’d worked on basic vocalization and pitch control.
In week two, I’d practiced the duet song for my first quarterfinal stage.
From week three onward, I worked on both the duet and the solo piece I’d be singing later, simultaneously.
“Your pitch dropped a bit. Again, follow me……Ah.”
“Ah, ah-ah-ah.”
“Yes, that’s it. Keep the pitch exact, keep it simple.”
I followed along dutifully, doing as I was told.
I could certainly feel the improvement from the beginning.
But then.
“Let’s skip the vibrato. Don’t try to force any expression. Focus only on the pitch.”
“……Yes.”
I nodded and accepted his instruction.
I knew well enough that conveying emotion through my voice was still a luxury I couldn’t afford.
That was what Kang In-sung’s trainer demanded too.
Just competent enough.
Nothing jarring.
I understood.
My friend Hyun-do, who worked as a vocal trainer, had said something similar.
‘Look. If you could do that in a month, everyone would be a singer. You think it’s easy for a regular person to step on stage? By the book, you need three years of training. Don’t get ahead of yourself.’
That was true too.
But somehow, I wasn’t satisfied.
I didn’t want to settle for a stage that merely announced my existence in some half-hearted way.
Whether through singing or anything else.
Talent or no talent.
Once I stepped onto that stage, I wanted to give everything I had without regret.
But.
Talent was the sticking point.
A wall exactly that high.
Between what I had and what I couldn’t cross.
Walking the line between them.
“All right, let’s start from the beginning again, shall we?”
“Yes.”
The first stage’s duet song was Choi Ho-seop’s “As the Years Pass.”
I sing the first verse; the other contestant sings the second.
I repeated the lyrics to myself, steadied my breathing, and began to recite slowly.
“……fades away.”

* * *
“Thank you. I’ll see you at the next lesson.”
As Kim In-ha bowed and left the academy, the glass door swung shut, and silence returned.
Kang In-sung patted his shoulder and let out a tired sigh.
“Ugh. I’m exhausted.”
Masked Singer was a long-running variety program.
Countless amateur contestants had passed through these doors, and most of them had been under his instruction.
As always, teaching from a layperson’s perspective was not easy work.
“If he could sing well too…… I would’ve been really frustrated. Thank goodness heaven didn’t give him everything, right?”
He laughed under his breath.
This was the eighth lesson.
By this point, talented amateurs usually began to show their promise.
But Kim In-ha was not one of them.
If Go and Archery were disciplines sustained by focus and mental discipline.
Then Singing was Emotional Art.
You had to pour emotion into your voice.
Create resonance through the expression of the lyrics.
A wall that training alone could not overcome.
For him, Kang In-sung saw a wall called “talent.”
Kang In-sung made a call to someone.
Jung Seong-hee, the head writer of Masked Singer.
“Hello. Yes, Writer Jung. We just finished the lesson.”
—What did you think?
He leaned back in his chair and continued.
“No talent. His skills aren’t improving either. There’s no point pushing further—just wasting time.”
—So the second round will be difficult?
“Yes. Even if the heavens split in two, it’s impossible.”
His answer was decisive.
—Then I’ll move up the shooting schedule. It’s better to consume while the buzz is still there.
“Understood. And I think post-production will need some serious work too.”
—Got it. I’ll pass the word along.
Kang In-sung hung up the phone.
He set down his smartphone and took a quiet sip of cold coffee.
“……Trying to express emotion was the funniest part.”
That remark he didn’t bother sharing with Writer Jung.
If you could express everything you wanted to, you’d already be a singer.
That wasn’t a task for amateurs.
He let out a scornful mutter to himself.
“Tsk. Where’d you pick that up from?”
An amateur’s delusion—lacking all self-awareness.
Emotion without foundation.
Even trying to humor them was exhausting, draining.

* * *
An officetel building near Jonggak Station.
That’s where I opened the In-hive office.
Two-room layout, compact and tidy.
For a solo management company just starting out, it wasn’t bad.
“The corporate registration is finalized, so we can hold an opening ceremony whenever.”
I nodded and swept my eyes across the space.
An incorporated company under my name.
Three desks and one sofa set.
Bookshelves covering the walls.
And by the window, Jung Soo-yeon the team lead—or rather, Jung Soo-yeon the executive director now.
She was flipping through an iPad with one hand while sipping coffee.
“We’re still reviewing several main sponsors, but we’re thinking two billion won annually, minimum.”
“Two billion won?”
I asked, taken aback.
I didn’t underestimate my own value, but this exceeded my imagination.
“Does that seem like a lot?”
“Not exactly, but… it feels a bit unrealistic.”
“I actually think it’s too low.”
Jung Soo-yeon’s voice was firm.
She went on, swiping across the iPad screen.
“The key is public expansion potential. The Masked Singer appearance is nice, but it’s a one-off, isn’t it? Besides, it’s not like you sang particularly well.”
“That’s true.”
I laughed sheepishly.
There was no real argument against it.
She lifted her head with a serious expression.
“Right now I’m in talks with several production companies. We’ve been thinking about how to expand your presence both domestically and globally at the same time.”
“Production companies?”
Her eyes lit up distinctly.
Not just a manager, but a Brand Director.
I could feel the calculated strategy and the strong will to execute it emanating from her.
“You said it yourself back then—no talent for singing, but chess is possible.”
“Right. It’s similar to Go, after all.”
Of course, my chess was still only C+ level at present.
But with the Talent Enhancement Token I had, I could boost it to B+ whenever I wanted.
“So I pursued it.”
Jung Soo-yeon continued quietly.
“An observational documentary variety show: ‘Kim In-ha’s Challenge to the Global Stage’—centered on chess.”
She set the iPad down with a light smile.
“Working title: <Kim In-ha’s Global Chess Championship Challenge>. What do you think? Not bad, right?”
Domestic popularity secured through broadcast television.
International recognition gained through chess, a world-class board game.
It aligned perfectly with what the sponsors wanted.
‘…That’s actually good.’
The larger picture she’d painted finally started taking shape in my mind.

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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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