I Have Too Many Money-Making Talents - Chapter 96

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

Too Many Lucrative Talents Episode 96
recording had begun.
Beneath the cascade of stage lights, the main host Kim Woo-jin launched into a dazzling opening monologue.
The polished eloquence of a long-running entertainment veteran.
“Stories whispered behind masks, mystery and music—. We begin right now!”
Across the stage, the celebrity judges responded with applause.
Composed of producers, composers, singers, comedians, and entertainers, the panel’s role was to listen to the performers’ voices, deduce their identities, and add entertainment value to the show.
“We have a special guest on the panel today. A singer whose voice has moved an entire generation. Raw emotion in every breath, the representative soul of Korea’s vocal prowess—Shin Jae-ho, please join us.”
As Kim Woo-jin finished his introduction, applause erupted from ninety-nine ordinary judges in the audience.
Shin Jae-ho.
The studio buzzed with electricity at the sight of this rare television appearance.
Sorrow and rage, comfort and lamentation.
A voice that held all of these emotions within it.
He was not a man who sang—he was a man who had lived through song.
“Hello, I’m Shin Jae-ho.”
His voice was low, austere, yet strangely charged with strength.
“I came today simply because I wanted to listen. Rather than speculate why someone stands on this stage, I’ll enjoy the songs themselves.”
Brief words, but weighted with substance.
Only a man who had moved generations through song could speak like that.
The main host Kim Woo-jin spoke with playful jest.
“This will have the contestants nervous, won’t it? Every word you say feels like a verdict.”
He wasn’t wrong.
In the waiting room.
The expression of ‘Flower Girl’ before her turn onstage contorted with irritation.
On the monitor, the celebrity judges’ panel came into view.
One figure in particular caught her eye—Shin Jae-ho.
“Did you know Shin Jae-ho was coming? Tell me you knew!”
Ji-soo glared at her manager and spoke sharply.
“No, no—I didn’t know. We don’t get that information in advance…….”
“Are you serious? That guy tore apart my song before. Said it had no emotion, that it was mechanical—don’t you remember? And now you’re telling me I have to hear that from him again?”
The manager tried carefully to calm Ji-soo down.
“He won’t know it’s you. You’re wearing a mask.”
“That’s rich. The moment I step on that stage and sing even one verse, you think he won’t recognize me?”
Flower Girl.
Her real identity was Ji-soo, the main vocalist of Love Cats, a mid-tier girl group under a major entertainment company.
An idol who had drawn attention for her charming visuals and unusually powerful vocal talent.
“I’m so annoyed. So annoyed. So annoyed.”
Ji-soo crossed her arms and exhaled sharply.
“You know what I decided? I have to become the King or Queen of this show, no matter what. That way I won’t have to clean up after those people anymore, right?”
“Right, of course. You’ll definitely become the King or Queen.”
Her manager laughed awkwardly and offered halfhearted support.
Ji-soo harbored considerable resentment toward her own group, Love Cats.
‘I sing better, too. I’m pretty. So why do I have to be just a backup?’
She had pushed hard for this appearance on because of it.
She wanted to build her name as ‘Ji-soo’ alone, not as part of the group Love Cats.
The timing was fortunate, too.
The current King or Queen of the show was Dancing Butterfly, a mid-career vocalist.
While her emotional delivery was good, her weakness in high notes put her at a disadvantage in competitions—that was the general consensus.
Moreover, her song selections were divisive.
It wouldn’t be easy, but if luck favored her, the crown was within reach.
‘……I’ll earn it all myself, and I’ll keep it all myself. No more compromises.’
If she won the King or Queen title, the company couldn’t refuse to push her as a solo artist.
She wouldn’t have to share the popularity, revenue, and attention she’d worked so hard to build with the other members.
‘And the matchups are good too.’
She’d prepared for rehearsal with double the focus and care.
Having pressured her agency head, she’d even held a preliminary meeting with Producer Han Kyung-il to specially prepare songs for the second and third rounds, as well as the King or Queen deciding track, all after the duet number.
Her mind was already swirling with fantasies of releasing a solo album and building a career as a soloist.
Knock-knock.
There was a tap at the door.
“Flower Girl, please stand by!”
Ji-soo rose from her seat with a listless expression.
She drew a single shallow breath.
The irritation on her face remained unchanged.
The moment she stepped out of the waiting room and arrived at the Studio, Checkmate was already waiting below the stage.
Her duet partner and first-round competitor.
He bowed in greeting, but Ji-soo ignored him, offering only a slight upward flick of her chin.
‘…Well, he’s not actually thinking he’ll advance, is he?’
It had been serious from their very first duet rehearsal.
The rehearsal had improved things somewhat, but his vocal technique and emotional expression were precisely amateur-level.
She’d thought of the first round as nothing more than a warm-up.
A chance to loosen her voice.
Someone aiming for the King title couldn’t even call it a competition—pairing her with someone satisfied after a single broadcast appearance was a mismatch from the start.
‘Just do your PR and go home.’
Ji-soo swallowed a scoff that filled her mouth.
Then.
The host Kim Woo-jin’s voice rang out.
“Now, let’s bring our next two performers to the stage!”
Ji-soo climbed first, with Checkmate following behind her onto the stage.
The two of them stood side by side.
“On the left we have Flower Girl, and on the right, Checkmate!”
Applause poured from the audience, and the celebrity panel’s speculation began.
Panelist Yoon Jin-seok spoke first.
“Flower Girl has… well, an idol vibe to her, doesn’t she? You can just tell from her outfit.”
“Yoon Jin-seok, didn’t you make a wrong call like that last time too?”
“Jin-seok’s track record hasn’t been great lately.”
The atmosphere was warm and friendly.
The focus then shifted to Checkmate.
“Checkmate—like chess, right? I’ll make a prediction. Judging by looks alone, he’s a distinguished gentleman of some age. There’s no hiding that.”
“Ah, I agree.”
“These people are too simple. But then again, who knows—that could be the twist.”
The banter continued,
and simple gestures and special talents were introduced to help the audience deduce the performers’ identities.
A distinctive pose.
A brief talent display.
Sensing they’d secured enough broadcast material, PD Han Kyung-il gave the signal to move forward.
“Now, let’s open the stage with both of your voices. Music, please!”
Host Kim Woo-jin quietly stepped back.
The lights on stage dimmed, then went completely dark.
Flower Girl steadied her breath gently and glanced sideways at Checkmate.
‘Just get the opening note right. Don’t mess it up.’
A piano prelude drifted out softly.
The arrangement was reinterpreted with a sweetness beyond the original.
Checkmate brought the microphone to his lips very slowly.
The first phrase.
A single word referring to the one who has been forgotten.
In just that one syllable, the air on stage shifted.
A resonance that seemed to embrace the entire scene with nothing but a breath.
‘What… what is this?’
Ji-soo’s expression stiffened in an instant.
It was a completely different voice from rehearsal.
The texture of a deep register.
The amateur, clumsy tone of an older man had vanished without a trace, replaced by a rich, stage-dominating resonance that unfolded across the space.
‘…No, it’s just the beginning. It’ll probably fall apart soon.’
Ji-soo gritted her teeth inwardly, denying what she heard.
But the resonance only deepened as they moved into the chorus.
A full, robust tone.
Restrained emotion.
Yet profound resonance.
‘Is he serious? Suddenly singing this well?’
It was not surprise—it was irritation.
Goosebumps crawled up her forearms, but even that sensation was becoming unbearable.
At last, the highlight of the first verse had arrived.
The lyric containing the song’s title.
“……!”
When he tossed out a single phrase as if discarding it casually, Ji-soo’s breath caught in her throat.
The depth of his voice.
The emotion woven into each breath.
Without forcing or wringing it out, it seeped in like something carving through her chest.
‘How is this even possible?’
The initial panic lasted only a moment.
Then an unbearable fury surged up.
‘This absolute fraud!’
Being pulled along on her own stage—her perfectly controlled stage—by this stranger, this mere ordinary person: the realization made her breath catch.
This was her stage.
She was supposed to be the star.
And yet now,
she was being completely overwhelmed by Checkmate’s voice.
Despite the absence of high notes.
Despite the lack of technique.
A voice that commanded the entire stage, that seemed to have melted the very sound itself into being.
Not just the audience or the judges—but even her, his duet partner.
‘No, this doesn’t make sense…….’
Ji-soo clenched her teeth.
This stage should be hers.
But.
On this stage right now, she wasn’t leading—she was being led.
She couldn’t accept that.
Or rather, she refused to accept it.
Her breathing quickened, her throat parched.
Beyond panic came irritation, and then rage.
Only these emotions roiled in Ji-soo’s chest.

* * *
“……Give it to me.”
As my first verse ended, the accompaniment began to flow.
Beyond the mask, I could see the people.
Startled celebrity judges.
They’d bolted upright, hands clamped around their heads, mouths shut tight while their eyes darted about frantically.
Below the stage, PD Han Kyung-il and writer Jung Sung-hee huddled together with grave expressions.
I cracked open a system window.
[Talent: Singing (B+)]
The old me couldn’t even manage to produce sound.
Holding pitch was difficult, and even when I wanted to pour emotion into it, what came from my mouth and what my heart felt were entirely separate things.
I wasn’t tone-deaf, but I could hardly claim any musical talent either.
Simply average.
Nothing more, nothing less.
But now was different.
It felt like I’d become a completely different person.
Emotion, pitch, rhythm.
Without any forced effort, they naturally wove together and flowed out as sound.
‘……Two Gold Roulette Tickets isn’t bad, is it?’
And I’d only used a single Gold Roulette Ticket.
The Platinum Roulette Ticket and the Talent Enhancement Ticket remained untouched.
‘……My luck at the draw was good.’
This was the first time I’d drawn the talent I wanted on the first try, so even I felt a bit dazed.
And at B-rank, no less.
Then I’d invested one Gold Roulette Ticket, converted it into a Talent Enhancement Ticket, and upgraded it to B+.
‘Forget everything else—I can definitely secure the buzz factor now.’
I didn’t even need to be King of Masked Singer.
With Director Jung Soo-yeon’s marketing capabilities added to this, I was confident I could easily meet the domestic buzz conditions Netflix had set.
Then, the backing track began to fade.
Ji-soo’s microphone touched her lips.
A flawless opening.
Pitch steady as stone.
She sailed through the high notes without strain.
‘……Why does it sound different from before?’
When I first heard her at the vocal academy, I was mesmerized.
I thought, ‘So this is what a real singer sounds like.’
But not now.
It wasn’t simply a matter of comparison. Whether it was her talent or something else, the most essential element of singing—emotional expression—came across as slightly thin.
There could be emotional distance because it’s a man’s song, but it was clear that the feeling infused into the lyrics fell short.
Then came the chorus highlight.
The high note section belonged to Ji-soo.
I provided the low foundation beneath it.
‘There’s no need to stand out.’
Normally, I would have chosen to fade quietly into the background.
But that wasn’t the case now.
Not anymore.
I didn’t even need to hit the high notes.
I had absolute confidence that the weight of my voice could shift the center of gravity on this stage.
As Ji-soo’s high notes pierced upward, I cradled them from below.
It wasn’t mere low harmony.
Rather, it became a pillar—a resonance that made those high notes deeper, richer, more luminous.
A heavy, sonorous appeal so profound it seemed to swallow Ji-soo’s own soprano whole.
As my voice wove into the ensemble, the very temperature of the stage seemed to shift.
In that moment, I felt Ji-soo’s breath slip, falter slightly.
I smiled quietly to myself.
Across the stage, the celebrity judges’ faces told the whole story.
My voice.
My music.
Simply by supporting another.
Right now, on this stage, the center was me.

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