CHAPTER 67

The waiter didn't need to think twice before agreeing to the bet. There was no way a normal human being would be able to finish seventy-four plates of food in less than thirty minutes.

It wouldn't be possible in a day let alone thirty minutes. He doesn't know what Tate was planning to do, the brat finally got someone that would pay for him, yet he was trying to be stubborn.

The waiter finally had every right to believe that Tate was drunk, or probably into some drugs that had taken a thorn in his head, whatever the case he would be getting over $1500 in his pocket.

"It's a bet!"

The waiter sounded again, waking everyone from their shock state, those that were thinking of protesting for Tate sake were stupefied on their spot.

They had no idea the boy was this stupid, but what could be his motive? Tate wasn't gaining anything from eating all the meals, given somebody had promised to pay if Tate could finish it.