Chapter 3
Chapter 3
On the way home from work, inside the bus.
The scenery outside the window rushed past quickly, but nothing caught my eye.
“[The talent ‘Go’ is currently active.]”
Staring at the blinking system window, I fell deep into thought.
I could definitely play Go now.
But that was it.
It had literally updated me to only be able to play “Go.”
Because of that, I couldn’t even begin to figure out how to make use of this talent.
“Where am I supposed to use this?”
After some thought, I took out my smartphone and searched “ways to make money with Go.”
Professional Go player
Go academy
After-school teacher
Online streaming
.
.
It was surprising. There were far more diverse career options related to Go than I had expected.
Which meant at least it wasn’t a completely useless talent.
“But… I am actually good, right?”
That question suddenly came to mind.
Just because I know how to play Go doesn’t necessarily mean I’m good at it.
Besides, Go is a board game where two players compete against each other.
At the moment, there was no way for me to gauge my actual skill level.
“This stop is Seokgyo-dong. The next stop is Namwol Community Center.”
As the announcement played, I pressed the bell and got off the bus.
Turning the corner at the stop, I walked up the hill lined with multi-family houses.
When I got home and opened the front door—
“……”
The house was quiet and empty.
My mother would be late from restaurant work, and my father from driving as a substitute driver.
I changed into comfortable clothes and sat down in front of the computer.
“The site was called Go Three Kingdoms, right?”
I accessed the online match site I had searched earlier on the bus.
It had the highest user ratings and was known for catching and dealing with cheating programs well.
“Name: Kim Inha, password like this… and the nickname will be Mumyeong.”
After entering my personal information for registration, I moved to the next page.
“Choose skill level?”
The selectable ranks ranged from 18-kyu to amateur 3-dan.
The lower the kyu, the better the skill, and for dan ranks, the higher the number, the better.
The problem was, since I didn’t know my exact level, it was hard to decide.
“Let’s rule out kyu.”
After all, I had obtained an A-rank talent from a diamond roulette ticket.
If it turned out to be kyu-level, that would be too disappointing.
“Amateur 3-dan feels too strong, and 1-dan feels too weak.”
After some thought, I compromised.
“Let’s go with 2-dan.”
I set my initial rank to amateur 2-dan and entered the lobby.
A list of ongoing matches and the nicknames of connected users appeared.
“There are over 100,000 users online?”
The flags next to the nicknames were diverse. Not just the Korean flag, but also Japanese, Chinese, and various European flags.
Go seemed more popular than I had thought.
“A match request has been received from CandyMaple.”
“Rank: Amateur 2-dan”
“Record: 153 wins, 129 losses”
I accepted the match without hesitation.
The whole reason I joined Go Three Kingdoms was to gauge my skill through matches.
The rank matched mine, and the win rate wasn’t bad either.
“Even game. Komi 6.5, time limit 10 minutes, 3 byo-yomi periods.”
“Do you agree? Y or N”
Go is a game where black and white take turns placing stones.
Since black moves first and has an advantage, extra points called “komi” are given to white.
When I pressed agree, the monitor switched to a Go board.
Black and white were automatically assigned, and a message indicated the match would begin.
“This is amazing. None of this feels unfamiliar.”
The mouse cursor on the board changed into a cross shape.
“I’m black.”
I clicked the lower-left star point.
Tap!
With a crisp sound effect, the stone was placed.
It wasn’t exactly like a real match, but it felt quite immersive.
White responded at the upper-right 3-4 point. I answered at the lower-right star point.
“Ah.”
It was a strange yet astonishing experience.
On the 19×19 grid of 361 intersections.
Black and white stones alternated.
To someone unfamiliar, it might look meaningless.
But as soon as the match started, the best moves began appearing in my mind.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
There was no room for distractions.
Through the opening phase, black and white stones clashed and intertwined.
The board grew chaotic.
“I can see the next move.”
The more complex it became, the more my reading ability shined.
I aimed to exploit white’s weak shape and seize control of the game.
However—
“Huh? Why play there? Did they misread?”
I tilted my head at white’s unexpected move.
At a glance, it seemed ordinary.
But to me, it was full of weaknesses.
I pierced through like a needle.
And after about a dozen moves, white couldn’t play the next move and resigned.
“I… won?”
It felt unreal.
Without any major crisis, I had completely dominated and secured an easy victory by resignation.
“……Let’s play a few more games.”
Calming my excitement, I focused on the next matches.
I didn’t even feel like eating dinner, which made it easier to concentrate on Go.
The next game was also a fast-paced match.
More intuitive than deeply calculated.
The result was anticlimactic.
I completely wiped out my opponent’s large group.
The following matches weren’t much different.
Without even reaching the counting stage, I crushed them in the early to mid-game with overwhelming strength.
“This is too easy.”
The result: 7 wins out of 7.
I couldn’t help but feel exhilarated.
At this point, I even wondered if I had set my rank too low.
Ding!
“A match request has been received from PePe.”
“Rank: Amateur 3-dan”
“Record: 19 wins, 0 losses”
“19 wins, 0 losses?”
An undefeated record at 3-dan meant a skill level close to 4-dan or even 5-dan.
I had already felt unsatisfied playing against 2-dans, so this was perfect.
“Handicap game. No komi, time limit 10 minutes, 3 byo-yomi periods.”
“Do you agree? Y or N”
A handicap game balances skill differences by giving black to the weaker player and removing komi.
Without hesitation, I pressed Yes.
“The match will begin.”
Tap.
I placed the first move at the right star point.
White responded with a star point as well.
From the opening, an invisible battle of nerves unfolded.
“This is different from the 2-dans I’ve faced so far.”
They never gave up key points and played solidly.
Even in the opening, their presence weighed heavily across the board.
“If I slip up, I’ll get eaten.”
I focused, fully alert.
The calm didn’t last long.
White invaded my territory, and the battle began.
I seized the momentum and turned aggressive.
White resisted fiercely, neither side giving an inch.
“Why is this so fun?”
Not only was it amazing that I could play so naturally, but the tense exchange of moves was exhilarating.
Especially this kind of intense fighting, targeting each other’s vital points—it suited me perfectly.
As the game moved into the mid-game, the battle intensified.
I attacked even more sharply.
White, trying to close the komi gap, went on the offensive, but I counterattacked.
“This is the turning point.”
Fast games rely on intuition.
But underneath that, precise calculation is essential.
It wasn’t easy, but the moves came to me as naturally as breathing.
And not just any moves—ones that could seize control of the entire board at once.
Tap!
“What do you think?”
It wasn’t a move that would wipe out a large group like before.
But it split white’s forces and created a gap of nearly ten points.
For the first time, white’s response slowed significantly.
The repeated long thinking meant their position had worsened.
As expected, after struggling desperately, white couldn’t hold on.
“PePe has resigned. You win by resignation.”
“I won!”
8 wins out of 8.
Defeating a 3-dan on a 19-game winning streak filled me with exhilaration.
I’d need more games to know my exact level, but this seemed beyond just being “good.”
“A rematch request has been received from PePe.”
“They want another game?”
Maybe they were furious that their winning streak had been broken.
“Well, why not one more—huh?”
I was about to confidently accept when I stopped.
My phone was ringing. It was my mother.
“Hello? Yes, Mom. I’m home. Oh, you went grocery shopping? You’ll be here in ten minutes… okay. I’ll come down on time.”
Our house was on a hill, with a steep slope.
So I often went down to carry the groceries for my mother, whose knees weren’t in good condition.
“Wow, this guy’s really persistent.”
“Rematch request from PePe.”
“Rematch request from PePe.”
.
.
While I was on the phone, rematch requests kept pouring in from PePe.
“Sorry, next time.”
I needed to leave on time to meet my mother.
I pressed decline and stood up.
After quickly changing clothes, I was about to leave the room when an electronic voice came from the speakers again.
“A one-on-one chat request has been received from PePe.”
They must have been really upset about losing.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t be this persistent.
“Hmm.”
After a brief hesitation, I accepted the chat.
Soon, a one-on-one chat window appeared on the monitor.
PePe: You win and then run away?
An aggressive tone right from the start.
I had heard that Go values etiquette, but apparently not everyone followed that.
Mumyeong: I have to head out. Let’s play next time.
I responded politely.
Just because they were rude didn’t mean I had to stoop to their level.
Then—
PePe: Hey, this is your alt account, right?
“Me?”
I let out a laugh at the absurd question.
I had just joined today and played my first matches. What alt account?
At this point, the misunderstanding was almost impressive.
Mumyeong: No, it’s not.
PePe: Whatever, bring your main account. Reveal your real nickname and let’s play properly.
No matter what I said, PePe didn’t believe me.
It wasn’t just suspicion—they were convinced I was using an alt account.
“Was my play really that good?”
At this point, I couldn’t help but ask.
Mumyeong: Am I really that good?