How To Get A High Score In Regular Show Games?

To prevent me from being jealous of my stepmother's son, my dad implemented a "family point system". Washing dishes earned 1 point, and getting a perfect score on a test earned 10 points. Accumulating 1000 points meant you could make a wish come true. When my stepbrother broke a vase, Dad said it was a sign of good luck and awarded him 50 points. When I insisted on going to school with a fever, Dad said I was trying to garner sympathy and deducted 100 points. I scrambled to scrape together every point I could, all for that exorbitant Math Olympiad registration form. On the day I finally accumulated enough points, my stepbrother cried and said he wanted a pair of limited-edition sneakers. Dad immediately emptied my points. "We're family. Your points are your brother's points too." I looked at the torn-up application form and jumped from the 18th-floor balcony.

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

My father, Daniel Jacobson, teams up with the elders in my family to launch the Family app. Every child's behavior is converted into points, and those points determine who inherits the family's wealth. As the least favored daughter in the family, I am one of the first people forced to use it. "You earn one point for greeting your parents. Massaging shoulders or washing feet gives you ten points. Handing over your entire paycheck gets you 1,000 points. This is my original digital system for measuring good behavior." If I dare complain even once, or if I rank last on the scoreboard, Dad humiliates me relentlessly in the family group chat. He even forces me to kneel and wash the feet of whoever has the highest score as an apology. He looks at my hands that are red and scalded from the hot water and sighs. Then, his expression turns resolute again as he says, "I know it hurts now, but this is for your own good. A rough diamond has to be cut and polished before it can sparkle. I'm helping to smooth away your rough edges so your future will be smoother. "The points system is my greatest achievement. It's the deepest expression of a father's love." Today is Independence Day. It's also our family's annual scoreboard finalizing day. Dad invites all our relatives over. In front of everyone, he plans to announce that I, the child who ranks last, will be disowned. He wants everyone to see what happens to anyone who dares challenge his authority. "I'm doing this for the good of our family. Without rules, there can be no order. And without a strict upbringing, you won't build up the perfect character. One day, you'll understand my good intentions." But, Dad... I have already ended my own life by overdosing on some medicine. Right now, my lifeless body lies cold in the room upstairs, waiting for you to uncover it with your own hands.

Bima is just an introverted, scrawny kid used to living behind a gaming screen and being a constant target for body shaming. But his life takes a drastic turn when he wakes up in a ruined city crawling with zombies. In the midst of the chaos, something even stranger than the apocalypse emerges: the "Single Survival System," which hits him with absurd missions likes maintaining an ideal BMI, getting revenge on his bullies, and landing his first kiss. Every mission isn't just a ridiculous challenge; it’s a matter of life and death. Forced out of his comfort zone, Bima must face his dark past. He crosses paths with Donny, his former bully who is now a zombie, and Kevin, an ex-gym influencer who has transformed into a fanatical cult leader obsessed with the perfect physique and extreme protein intake. Amidst the chaos, Bima meets Lia, a tough convenience store clerk who harbors a deep-seated trauma toward food. Together, they survive nonsensical threats, ranging from zombie food vloggers obsessed with livestreaming death to grotesque mutants lurking underground. But the madness is only the beginning. Bima’s reckless actions catch the attention of a far more dangerous entity: the Master AI Fitness Freak, an artificial intelligence that views humans as inefficient unless they meet extreme nutritional standards. With the help of Riska, an AI with cold, business-like logic that shares a secret connection to Bima’s past, the battle shifts into a clash of ideologies: perfection versus happiness. In a world that worships muscles, protein, and ruthless efficiency, Bima fights back in an unexpected way, using Indomie as a symbol of balance, hope, and humanity.

Our entire class gets dragged into The Tyrant's Atonement game. The only way to escape alive is to reach a 100% atonement score. The system lets us choose our roles. The class belle, Isolde Adler, picks the tyrant's first love. Her atonement score shoots straight to 99% on the first day. The class president, Asher Brooks, chooses to be a loyal chancellor. His atonement score jumps to 80%. Spectators watching the game flood the screen with comments. "This new batch is smart and way better at picking roles than the last. They might just clear the game in three days." "Even if just one person hits 100%, the whole class goes free. I'm looking forward to seeing who finishes first." "My money's on the first love. She's already at 99%." Just as everyone starts celebrating, the next morning hits us with bad news. All 20 classmates who picked their roles are dead, and Isolde suffers the cruelest fate of all.

The mock exam just finished. A beggar outside the school gate pointed right at me and said, "Zero points." I laughed. "The score for the top scorer in the college entrance exam always shows up as zero. Thanks for the blessing, I guess." The beggar gave me a meaningful look. "The top scorer in the college entrance exam will be your best friend. You'll actually get zero points." I just laughed. There was no way the school's top student would get zero points. As I was about to walk off, he pointed at my bracelet. "Score-Switching Bracelet. When she hands in a blank paper, you'll get zero points." I was taken aback. My bestie did give me this matching bracelet recently. I thought it would be a pain to wear because it would be uncomfortable when I write, but she insisted I put it on. I tried taking it off a few times but couldn't. Recently, my grades had indeed slipped, while my bestie's scores had consistently ranked first three times in a row... "What should I do then?" "Transfer it to a close family member. They can bear the misfortune for you." The beggar pointed at the boy coming to pick me up. "Like him." I turned around. Standing not far away, waiting for me, was my childhood friend.