The organizer’s betting manager held a brass gong, striking it while shouting loudly:
“Come one, come all, place your bets!
The annual Glutton King Championship is officially open for betting!”
“Rare opportunity!
Take a gamble, and turn your bicycle into a motorcycle!”
Following the manager’s shouts, the surrounding crowd stepped forward one after another to place bets on the contestants they favored.
“I’m betting 10,000 Berries on Number 1!
I have a good feeling about him; just look at that belly, you can tell he’s a big eater!” shouted a thin, middle-aged man.
Beside him, a two-meter-tall, two-meter-wide female warrior looked on with disdain:
“What’s the use of a big belly?
I’m betting 50,000 Berries on Number 3!
Look at that nine-meter-plus giant, the championship is definitely his!”
“So what if he’s tall?
I’m betting 100,000 Berries on Number 8; he’s the reigning champion!”
That is the charm of gambling; every person placing a bet believes they are the chosen one, convinced they will be the one to have the last laugh, unaware that they have long since become the fat sheep in someone else’s eyes.
By the third-floor windowsill of a building next to the arena stood a middle-aged man in a sharp suit with his hair slicked back—he was the Gourmet Association president of Bubble Fragrance Gourmet Street and the overall manager of this Glutton King competition.
He gazed at the noisy betting scene downstairs and instructed his subordinate beside him:
“Go adjust the odds for the dark horse contestants higher, make this group of gamblers go even crazier.”
“Yes!”
The subordinate paused, then hesitantly asked: “President, do the odds for those popular contestants need to be lowered?”
The president narrowed his eyes and said coldly:
“Do your job, and don’t ask about things you shouldn’t.”
The subordinate was so scared he retreated repeatedly:
“Yes, yes, yes!
I’ll go do it right away!”
Watching the subordinate push the door and leave, an old man with a white beard beside him asked curiously: “Is it really okay not to lower the odds for the popular ones?”
This old man was the highly respected Council Chairman of the Gourmet Association.
Treating the Council Chairman, President Delas naturally wouldn’t be as harsh as he was with his subordinates, and he smiled inscrutably:
“Of course it’s no problem.
Do you remember how many servings of food the previous Glutton King champion ate?”
The Council Chairman stroked his beard, tilted his head, and pondered for a moment:
“I remember, it was fifty-one servings; it even broke the record for all previous competitions at the time.”
The slick-haired president chuckled:
“The person I sent out this time can eat a full 70 servings.”
“What?!” The white-bearded old man looked completely incredulous.
“For real?
Is he even human?”
“Absolutely true.
He once ate 70 servings of beef right in front of me, and it was expired, too.”
The old man immediately became excited: “That’s fantastic!”
President Delas poured him a glass of red wine, his lips curling into a sinister smile:
“To the financial ruin of the gamblers, cheers!”
The old man also raised his glass with a wicked grin: “Cheers!”
…
Inside the Glutton King competition arena, Dar watched his odds skyrocket—from 1 to 10, up to 1 to 20, 30, 60, and finally soaring to a terrifying 1 to 100.
“Damn!
They are really underestimating me to death!”
Just as the betting was about to close, Dar suddenly shouted loudly:
“I’m betting 20 million Berries on Number 29!”
The scene instantly went quiet, and everyone looked in unison toward the source of the voice.
“Damn!
Who is so arrogant?”
Dar leaped down from the arena, walked up to the betting manager, took out a large suitcase from the system space, opened it, and said:
“Here is 20 million Berries, all on Number 29.”
The manager looked at the money in the case, then at the number 29 tag on Dar’s chest, and asked in a daze:
“Aren’t you contestant number 29?”
Dar frowned: “It’s me, is that a problem?”
The manager immediately piled on a smile and efficiently took the money: “No problem!
Of course it’s fine!
I’ll write your ticket right away!”
After a brief silence, the crowd instantly erupted, and discussions broke out one after another.
“Who is this kid?
With those thin arms and legs, betting on himself to win, is he a fool?”
“Maybe he’s some young noble looking to use this method to pursue Miss Mia.”
“I think it’s highly likely; casually pulling out 20 million Berries, his background must be extraordinary.”
“Come to think of it, this young man is actually quite handsome; maybe he really could succeed.”
Having placed his bet, Dar felt secretly pleased; competing with me in appetite?
Just watch as I scare the life out of you all.
Listening to the surrounding discussion, he shouted aloud:
“Everyone bet on Number 29!
Number 29 is sure to win!”
“Tch—”
He was met only with a chorus of jeers, and no one paid him any more mind.
Dar felt snubbed and had no choice but to return to the arena to wait for the competition to begin.
Not long after, a tall host wearing sunglasses walked briskly onto the arena and shouted loudly to the audience below:
“Ladies and gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting!
I announce that the 8th ‘I Am a Glutton King’ Championship officially begins!”
“Oh—!”
The audience and gamblers below erupted in thunderous cheers.
As the host announced the start of the competition, etiquette ladies in sexy outfits took the stage, each holding a tray filled with food, the portion size on each plate being exactly enough for an ordinary person’s meal.
Dar had long been so hungry his stomach was touching his back; gazing at the chunks of meat, bread, and a large mug of beer in front of him, he immediately buried his head and devoured it wildly.
In less than a minute, the food on his tray was completely wiped out.
The others were much the same, as they were all contestants who had skipped several meals in advance for this competition.