There Are Too Many Money-Making Talents 089

"Do you, by any chance... sing well?"

"I'm sorry?"

The question had come flying at me with no turn signal whatsoever, and I found myself flustered for a moment.

Seeing my reaction, PD Han Kyung-il gave an awkward smile and added, "Ah, well... I was just wondering if you had it as a hobby, or if you enjoy singing. It's a music variety show, you see — that's the nature of the program."

Masked Singer.

I knew the show well. It was a singing competition where contestants battled it out using nothing but their voices and stage presence, their faces and identities completely hidden. The participants' gender, age, occupation, even whether or not they were celebrities — all strictly confidential. Not just singers, but actors, comedians, sports stars, politicians, and ordinary citizens had all appeared on it, making headlines more than once.

"Honestly? I've never heard anyone say I sing well. Not once in my life."

It was a truthful answer. I was passable — not tone-deaf, but a far cry from what anyone would call a "good singer." My best friend Sang-mo had graduated from a commercial music program and now worked as a vocal trainer, so his assessment of me was surely accurate. Ordinary. Just your average Joe. Nothing more, nothing less.

At my words, PD Han Kyung-il nodded with a laugh. "If it's not too rude to ask — do you actually sing your life song yourself on Last Song?"

I nodded quietly. "...Just the opening ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠verse. I hear Rua sings the chorus."

Rua was a singer known for soulful music that moved fluidly between hip-hop and ballads. Her gift for conversation had made her a popular sub-MC, and she also took on the role of performing guests' life songs on their behalf.

In that moment, a subtle shift came over the PD's eyes. "Oh, then you should be perfectly fine," he said with a smile, and continued. "People who are tone-deaf or completely hopeless either don't pick up the mic at all, or... Well, by our standards, you look more than good enough."

"Ah... really?"

When I laughed awkwardly, he added, "Yes. Amateur guests get help from a professional trainer anyway. And you do know Masked Singer's ratings have been strong lately, right? It's generating a lot of buzz too."

Confident words. And behind them, I could sense a strong determination to cast me.

PD Han Kyung-il pulled a business card from his pocket and carefully held it out. "Here's mine. And if... you happen to have a card, could I trouble you for one?"

I considered it for a moment, then took out my wallet. The business card the Korea Baduk Association had made for me.

We exchanged business cards. "If it's not too much trouble, could I have a writer reach out to you separately? Ah — no pressure, of course. I'd just love to talk sometime."

"Yes, of course."

He beamed and nodded. "Thank you. Good luck with the recording — when the episode airs, I'll be watching for sure."

With that pleasant farewell, PD Han Kyung-il walked off toward the other side of the corridor. Left behind, I quietly looked down at the card in my hand.

Me... on Masked Singer.

It had always been someone else's story. I'd been the one clutching the remote, the one guessing who was behind the mask. And now I was being asked to take the stage myself.

...Not bad.

It was a new stream of attention, distinct from the name value I'd earned through Go. For building the brand that was "me," it was an option well worth considering.

Just then —

"Mr. Kim In-ha!"

Beyond the studio gate, a familiar woman came hurrying up, out of breath. Short, with a bob haircut — it was the youngest writer on Last Song.

"I'm so sorry, the meeting ran long... You've been waiting a while, haven't you?"

"No, it's fine."

I gave a slight bow in greeting. Catching her breath, the writer said, "You can head up right now. There'll be makeup, then a pre-show meet-and-greet with the MCs before rehearsal. Oh, and you'll need to run a sound check with Rua, too."

Passing through the gate, I began to walk slowly behind her. The lights of the broadcast station corridor seemed unusually bright.

Now, it was time to go tell my story.

Inside the studio.

On the arranged talk stage, beneath the cascading lights, three people were seated. Ha Ji-hoon — the face of the program, whose signature cheerfulness and quick wit could put any guest at ease. Beside him, Mose, the sub-MC who was short in stature but lifted the whole room with his jokes and flawless reactions. And at the far end sat Rua, the singer-songwriter famous for her heartfelt empathy.

"And here we have today's featured guest on Last Song!"

Ha Ji-hoon waved toward me, waiting just outside the camera angle. "The man who burst onto the scene this year like a comet and took the Go world by storm. The amateur miracle. Winner of the Presidential Cup, the Biryong Tournament, the Ciel Bank Cup, and the Gusuyeon — and most recently, first place in the first round of national team selections for archery compound! The man behind the whirlwind — Kim In-ha!"

Applause erupted. I walked forward and gave a brief bow.

"Welcome, Gusuyeon Kim In-ha. Now — is that the right way to address you? 'Gusuyeon'?"

"Yes, feel free to call me that."

The talk unfolded naturally. I relaxed and followed the MCs' lead.

"I hear you have quite an unusual background, even among professional Go players. A former bank security guard?"

"Yes. Back then I was competing as an amateur while also working as a contract security guard."

"Was it hard?"

I smiled quietly. "Getting cursed at by customers was just part of the day. A lot of them had no reason at all. I couldn't vent to anyone, so I just kept it all bottled up inside."

"Oh dear. So there were difficult customers, too."

"Yes. That's when I really felt it — how hard it is to be treated like a human being."

A brief silence. Mose quietly chimed in. "In the middle of all that, how ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠did you end up playing Go?"

"Thanks to my branch manager."

"...Your branch manager?"

"Yes. He was always telling me I should learn Go."

On my previous TV appearance, there hadn't really been an opportunity to mention the branch manager. On another show, the segment had even been edited out. But he had been a steadfast supporter of mine, and I didn't want to leave his story out.

"Go changed my life," I said, with complete sincerity. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The three MCs listened intently, layering on warm reactions.

"But how did archery come into the picture? The sports are so different — it caught me completely off guard," Ha Ji-hoon asked with a laugh.

I nodded and answered. "I wanted a new challenge."

Mose's eyes went wide. "I hear it's compound archery. Even within archery, that's not exactly a well-known ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠discipline here in Korea, is it?"

"That's right. It's still uncharted territory for us. The only medal Korea has ever taken in the event at the World Championships is a single bronze. Which is exactly why I want to take on the challenge."

"Ah, right — I did hear it was adopted as an official Olympic event next year."

"Yes. So my appetite's only grown."

Men's individual. Mixed team. Two gold medals, hanging on two fronts.

Mose, who had been watching me carefully, asked, "Say what you will, Korea's archery is the strongest in the world, right? Making the national team won't be easy."

"It's hard. Of course it won't be easy."

There was no light laugh in those words — only a firm resolve.

"Wow... knowing how hard it'll be and still taking it on. That spirit is truly impressive."

Rua applauded at just the right moment. Amid the warm, convivial atmosphere, the recording soon drew to its close.

"And finally — could you introduce today's life song?"

Ha Ji-hoon's careful, pivotal question. I took a moment to steady my breath, then opened my mouth slowly.

"...It was a year that changed a great deal for me."

Words I could never say out loud. What had changed my life wasn't some innate gift, nor punishing hard work.

Talent.

No one knew that fact better than I did. Perhaps that was why I never took lightly the weight of the people who had labored for years in their fields. I had neither the reason nor the right to dismiss or underestimate anyone.

...Though picking a fight first is a separate matter.

There was a time I had hesitated. What if I was taking someone else's place? What if I was stealing someone's opportunity by unfair means? But I thought differently now. If my story — if this journey — if the life of a bank security guard that had been turned upside down could inspire someone, somewhere, to find the courage to start again — I hoped it could become a small beacon of hope for someone who had stopped in their tracks.

With those unspoken feelings and untellable truths in mind, I made my selection.

"My life song is 'Butterfly' by Loveholics."

Holding the mic quietly, I smiled and added, "...There aren't many songs where the word 'leap' fits quite this well, you know."

Not everyone is born with wings. But everyone can have their moment to fly. My singing alone fell short of conveying any real sincerity — but with Rua joining for the duet and singing most of the song, the emotion was complete.

And a few days later.

The moment Last Song hit the airwaves, the search bar of the revived major portal site lit up.

The trending search rankings were all but wallpapered with my story.

Masked Singer production meeting.

The subtle aroma of coffee drifted over the table strewn with laptops, monitors, and meeting materials.

"Ratings are up, and our buzz index is climbing. The digital single numbers are strong, too."

Main writer Jung Sung-hee said brightly, flipping through a ratings chart. The mood in the room was warm and upbeat overall.

The Baby's Breath Boy. Thanks to the contestant who had recently claimed the throne of Masked King, the show's momentum was unmistakably building.

The assistant director chimed in with a smile. "I think we can ride the Masked King arc a little longer."

"Agreed. Soccer player Kim Kyung-in's episode was a real ratings driver too. And 'White Butterfly,' the challenger we brought in to threaten the current king, is getting a decent reception."

Writer Jung Sung-hee nodded along in agreement. Just then, PD Han Kyung-il, who had been reading over the materials the youngest writer had printed out, looked up.

"Everyone — did you see the search rankings yesterday?"

Every gaze in the conference room snapped to him at once.

"Of course we did," Writer Jung Sung-hee reacted first. "It was wall-to-wall Kim In-ha."

"He definitely... has that buzz factor," the assistant director agreed.

Then came a settled silence. PD Han Kyung-il broke it.

"We're casting him, right?"

"Absolutely."

Writer Jung Sung-hee nodded as if she'd been waiting for exactly that. And as if on cue, the youngest writer pulled up a video on her laptop. The life song Kim In-ha had personally introduced on Last Song — "Butterfly" by Loveholics.

On stage, Kim In-ha was singing the verse into the mic. No great emotion, no chills. The pitch, the timing, the rhythm — all passable. About the level of barely listenable.

"Well?" Writer Jung Sung-hee asked.

"...Round two is a hard no, kill me first. But if we polish him up, he's about good enough to scrape through round one," the assistant director said flatly.

"Same here," PD Han Kyung-il nodded.

Writer Jung Sung-hee tapped the table with her ballpoint pen. "This might be his peak. We should move before the buzz fades, right?"

At that, the assistant director spoke up hesitantly. "Uh, sunbae. What if — just what if — Kim In-ha makes the national team first? Wouldn't it be better to deploy him then? There's the Olympic season to consider."

PD Han Kyung-il snorted. "Come on. This is Korean archery we're talking about — since when has an amateur ever made the national team? Does Korean archery look like a pushover to you?"

"Well... I mean, yeah, but..."

Chided, the assistant director trailed off and lowered his head. Deep down, he knew it himself. A professional Go player becoming a national archery team member? By any common-sense measure, it was a picture bordering on impossible. And yet somehow, for the briefest of moments — the very briefest — he couldn't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, it might be possible.

Writer Jung Sung-hee closed the matter decisively. "Sunbae, let's not drag this out — let's go now. If we wait until the treasure turns to dung, we're the only ones who lose."

PD Han Kyung-il nodded and wrapped things up. "Alright. Let's move on casting Kim In-ha."