“Observe the scroll we have meticulously prepared,” Mi-Reu announced, her voice ringing clearly through the hall. As she spoke, two attendants stepped forward to unfurl a massive expanse of parchment, pinning it against a wooden display frame so the entire court could witness its contents.

  Gi-Reu stepped toward the display, gesturing broadly. “This is a visual representation of data that Mi-Reu and I call a Bar Chart!”

  The court remained silent, eyes widening as they processed the strange imagery. Instead of the usual dense columns of vertical text and intricate hanja, they saw a clean, geometric arrangement of ink.

  “Currently, the traditional method by which we document and sort our information makes efficient communication nearly impossible,” Gi-Reu explained, pacing before the scroll with the confidence of a seasoned scholar. “To understand a complex trend or the progression of a crisis, one must currently pore through several volumes of accounting books and dry reports to get a clear view. However, with this chart, the core of the information is revealed in a single glance.”

  King Jin-Ho, Queen Myeong-Hwa, the gathered scholars, and even the skeptical Inspector General leaned forward, squinting at the chart titled: “Grain Production and Harvest Yields Throughout the Current Lunar Year.”

  The diagram was revolutionary in its simplicity. Twelve distinct vertical bars stood side-by-side, each representing a specific month of the lunar cycle. A vertical axis on the left was marked with increments of weight in seok, while the horizontal axis displayed the passage of time.

  Even without a formal education in mathematics, the logic was undeniable. The height of each bar corresponded to the total weight of grain harvested during that period. By looking at the dramatic dips in the height of the bars mid-year, everyone in the room, from the King to the lowest-ranking scribe, could instantly visualize the exact moment the famine had taken hold and precisely how much the yields had plummeted compared to the lush harvests of the early spring.

  It was a staggering consolidation of data. Information that usually required hours of reading and cross-referencing between multiple ministry ledgers was now laid bare on a single page. The "monotonous" facts of the kingdom's suffering had been transformed into a stark, undeniable visual reality that no amount of ministerial rhetoric could obscure.

  The Minister of Taxation was the first to break the silence, his voice barely a whisper. “This... this replaces thirty ledgers of work with a single sheet of parchment.”

  “Yes,” Mi-Reu stepped forward, her voice ringing with feigned innocence. “Gi-Reu and I have always used drawings to communicate with each other since we were small. While we were laboring over the accounting books for Mother to inspect, we tried creating a system to visualize the data. We found many ways to make it significantly easier to digest heaps of accounting numbers at a much faster pace.”

  Gi-Reu stood next to her, a knowing smirk playing on his lips that silently screamed: You have gotten much better at lying, sister.

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  Mi-Reu met his gaze with a defiant smirk of her own before turning back to the assembly. “We wish to seek out more of these practical solutions and test them to see if they can be formally implemented into the governing of our people. That is the true purpose we envision for the Advisory Office for Practical Affairs.”

  The Great Hall fell into a thoughtful silence until King Jin-Ho spoke, his voice echoing from the throne. “So, you intend to use this bureau to experiment with unproven methods, to check their feasibility and efficiency before they are ever considered for wider implementation?”

  Both twins nodded in firm unison. Suddenly, the oppressive tension in the room shifted, replaced by a surprisingly positive atmosphere among the ministers.

  “Would your office be open to taking requests from us?” the Minister of Public Conduct asked with a curious smile. “If a ministry conceives of a new policy idea, could we send it to you to check these methods first?”

  “That is exactly what we intend to do,” Gi-Reu replied, his smile widening at the immediate buy-in from the court.

  “We wholeheartedly support such an endeavor, Your Majesty!” the Minister of Finance declared, becoming the first to officially voice his backing. His endorsement triggered a wave of support that swept through the ministries; even the usually obstructive Inspector General chimed in with a positive view on the bureau's establishment.

  “Since the court views this so positively,” King Jin-Ho announced, his voice booming with finality, “I shall officially grant permission for the establishment of the Advisory Office for Practical Affairs.”

  “Ha... it really paid off being thoroughly prepared this time,” Gi-Reu said, collapsing onto a silk floor cushion in his room with a heavy sigh of relief.

  Mi-Reu, sitting opposite him, was already busy organizing a fresh set of scrolls, though she too let out a weary exhale. “I mean, it was logically advantageous for them to support us on this, after all,” she remarked, her tone more analytical than celebratory.

  “'Advantageous is putting it lightly,” Gi-Reu retorted, his expression shifting into one of mild annoyance as he replayed the court session in his head. “The various ministries spend an enormous amount of manpower and precious yang trying to prove the feasibility of new policies to Father, all while juggling their current administrative tasks. If the Advisory Office is established, we are essentially volunteering to take the brunt of that investigative responsibility.”

  Sighing, he finished his thought with a cynical edge. “They only viewed the proposal positively because they realized it would make their own work lives significantly easier.”

  “There is another, much deeper advantage for them, Gi-Reu,” Mi-Reu said, reaching out to point a finger toward his forehead.

  “What? What else could there possibly be?” he asked, his curiosity piqued by her serious expression.

  “Using our own funds for testing these methods is a strong selling point, yes. But the most attractive point for the ministers is this,” Mi-Reu said, pointing at him and then herself. “It is being run by us, children.”

  Gi-Reu paused, his eyes widening as the realization finally dawned on him. “So... if any of their policy ideas fail during the test runs, they won't have to shoulder the blame any longer. They can sweep the failure under the rug by claiming it only went wrong because it was managed by 'inexperienced children.' It protects them from having to admit the idea was fundamentally flawed from the beginning!”

  Mi-Reu offered a knowing smile. Gi-Reu’s face twisted into a mask of frustration as he pointed an accusing finger back at her. “You knew they would do this, didn’t you? You saw the trap!”

  “Of course,” Mi-Reu replied, her smile widening into a playful grin.

  Gi-Reu lunged forward, and Mi-Reu scrambled to her feet, darting toward the door. “You idiot! You deliberately set us up to be the scapegoats for the entire royal court!”

  With bursts of high-pitched giggles, the twins burst out of the room and began running through the secluded palace courtyard. They chased each other in the crisp, early morning air, their laughter ringing out in a joyous celebration of their victory.