“I genuinely despise waking up this early,” Mi-Reu muttered under her breath, a perfect, yet tiny, scowl creasing her brow. She stood waiting patiently on the grand, polished stone steps before the main reception building of the palace, enveloped in the quiet chill of the early morning.

  A moment later, Gi-Reu arrived, his own Eunuch and Lady-in-Waiting hurrying to keep pace behind him. He was dressed in a pristine ceremonial robe, which was a deep scarlet outer garment lined with gold embroidery at the cuffs and collar, a required display of high rank for the diplomatic event.

  “Mi-Reu!” he called out, his excitement overriding the dignity of his ceremonial attire. He quickened his pace until he arrived right beside her. Mi-Reu was equally formal, wearing a breathtaking bright pink ceremonial dress , heavily embroidered with intricate patterns of phoenixes and clouds stitched in silver thread, reflecting her status as a high-ranking princess.

  Gi-Reu immediately dropped his voice to an urgent whisper, forgetting their surroundings. “Did anything happen with the ‘System’ overnight?”

  Mi-Reu just shook her head subtly. “Same as ever.”

  Gi-Reu closed the small distance between them further, leaning in to deliver his idea straight into her ear. “I thought of something! After the ceremony, we can sneak into the Ministers’ Waiting Room. They always discuss complicated things there: state finances, border disputes, laws, it would force your brain to use extreme focus just to understand the context! And that should absolutely count as a new, complex experience! It might help finally increase the Cognitive Bandwidth!”

  Mi-Reu paused, her deep, dark eyes focusing intently as she mentally processed the logic of the scheme. The idea of eavesdropping on national secret, complex information that required deep, sustained thought was exactly the kind of intense mental workout needed to advance her stat. A mischievous, almost predatory grin slowly unfolded across her face as she enthusiastically nodded in confirmation.

  “What exactly are the two of you rascals scheming about at this hour of the morning?” A clear, feminine voice, tinged with a blend of amusement and sternness, cut through their hushed plotting.

  “Sister Seo-Yeon!” Gi-Reu exclaimed, as both twins turned immediately to face the voice.

  Their elder sister, Princess Seo-Yeon, was walking toward them, accompanied by her own Ladies-in-Waiting. She was dressed in an elegant pale blue ceremonial Chima and a slightly darker blue Jeogori jacket, which signaled her seniority while retaining an air of graceful maturity.

  “Today, it is my sworn duty to keep a strict eye on you two. So, make sure you do not cause a single ounce of trouble, do you both understand me clearly? Especially not with the Ming Envoys watching our court,” she said sternly, though a glimmer of sisterly warmth softened her expression.

  Both twins nodded their heads with perfect, feigned obedience.

  Princess Seo-Yeon smiled, satisfied with their compliance. “Now then, let’s get going. We certainly don’t want to be late and draw the displeasure of Father, do we?” With that, the ten-year-old Princess, radiating an air of responsibility that far outpaced her age, led the way, and the twins, already buzzing with the prospect of their secret mission, followed her obediently into the palace.

  The vast, ornate Royal Court was hushed, filled with the expectant silence of high diplomacy. Everyone took their assigned places; the Ming Envoys, the Haebang ministers, and the royal family were all seated respectfully on thick, cushioned mats arranged on the polished floor according to rank.

  The moment was heralded by the Chief Announcer’s powerful voice, echoing off the high ceilings: “The heaven’s blessed His Majesty, Barua Jin-Ho! And Her Majesty, Barua Myeong-Hwa has arrived!”

  Walking together with profound, deliberate grace, were the King and Queen. King Jin-Ho possessed a commanding, imposing presence entirely appropriate for a ruler who had spent considerable time navigating both the subtle cruelty of court politics and the harsh brutality of the battlefield defending his mountainous kingdom. He was dressed in the imperial yellow robe, Goryongpo, woven with massive, five-clawed dragon motifs embroidered in gold and scarlet, symbolizing the absolute authority of the Haebang throne.

  Beside him, Queen Myeong-Hwa was a vision of severe, untouchable regality. She was draped in a deep violet ceremonial dress, Jeok-ui, the traditional attire for a Queen, intricate with multi-colored silk thread embroidery. Here, her energy was totally different from the doting mother of the twins; her posture was rigidly stern, her expression impassive, radiating the cold power of the Haebang matriarchal line.

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  As they both reached the elevated platform, everyone bowed low until their robes brushed the floor. The King and Queen finally seated themselves upon the imposing wooden thrones. Only once King Jin-Ho gave the brief, silent command did the assembly dare to straighten and take their own seats on the mats.

  “Let the ceremony begin!” King Jin-Ho announced, his voice carrying the powerful weight of authority.

  For the next few hours, the court was subjected to a continuous stream of different performers: singers, traditional dancers, and long recitations of poetry. Some acts were genuinely exciting and culturally vibrant; others bored the young twins to no end as they sat on their mats, maintaining perfect, agonizingly uncomfortable posture with their small legs folded beneath them.

  Finally, the initial, formal main ceremony came to a close, and a brief recess was called, allowing the attendees to move and talk amongst themselves. Gi-Reu spotted his opening instantly. Several lower-ranking ministers, exhausted by the formality, began quietly slipping out toward the waiting rooms for tea and less constrained discussion. The main crowd was distracted, buzzing with low-volume chatter about the Ming contingent. Crucially, Princess Seo-Yeon, who was supposed to be their vigilant guard, had her attention drawn away by a conversation with an older court lady.

  Gi-Reu hurried to Mi-Reu and tugged gently on the silk sleeve of her elaborate ceremonial dress. “Now is the best chance we’ll get,” he whispered, his eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated excitement.

  Mi-Reu matched his intensity. A split second later, before anyone could even register the movement of the two tiny royal siblings, they were gone: melting seamlessly into the crowd and vanishing toward the administrative wing of the palace.

  “The mountain lords have been sending relentless petitions asking for far more aid than we can possibly provide!” one of the senior ministers exclaimed immediately upon entering the Waiting Room. He slammed a fan onto a nearby low table in frustration.

  The twins, having just arrived, were barely in time, squeezing hastily behind a pair of colossal, ornate porcelain vassals placed strategically in the corners of the room. The thick porcelain walls muffled their heavy breathing.

  “Of course they have; they’ve been hit the hardest by the current famine compared to the relative stability of the capital after all,” a young junior minister replied, settling onto a mat. “It’s already placing an immense burden on the national treasury with existing relief operations, but now the Ming Envoys are demanding double the usual tribute! How truly shameless can those foreign officials possibly be!” the junior minister hissed.

  “Hush! Do you genuinely wish for your head to end up mounted on a spike?” A scholar minister, visibly older and more cautious, interjected, calmly sipping his tea. “We are undeniably in a dire state, that much is true, but His Majesty chose to demonstrate strength and abundance at this ceremony. We must maintain these appearances at all costs.”

  “I fully understand the necessity of diplomatic theater, but we just used the final reserve funds explicitly earmarked for the mountain lord’s relief operations just to host this elaborate ceremony!” the first minister chimed in again, his voice cracking with urgency. “At this rate, a full-scale rebellion is imminent.”

  The scholar lowered his teacup. “I believe His Majesty is attempting to appease the Ming Envoys with this grand display, hoping they will grant us a reduction in the tribute demanded for this cycle. We simply cannot afford any more money amidst this great famine.”

  “I agree, that is precisely what I believe the strategy is,” the junior minister concurred grimly.

  The first minister hummed, unconvinced. “However, even if that diplomatic gamble succeeds… we still have absolutely no means of helping the mountain lords now. All the emergency money has been spent. Once they realize they have been passed over entirely, I fear there will be a great rebellion within the year.”

  “Do not utter such disastrous predictions—” Before the scholar minister could finish his warning, the slightest scraping sound of porcelain on stone betrayed the twins’ hiding spot. The large, ornamental vase shifted an inch. All three ministers immediately snapped their heads toward the sound.

  “Who goes there!” the scholar minister barked, alarm etched onto his face.

  The twins didn't wait. They bolted. They ran with astonishing speed, their ceremonial silks rustling loudly, through the inner hall and out into the nearest courtyard, not stopping until they collapsed far into a distant, secluded corner of the royal garden.

  “Huf… huf…” Gi-Reu leaned against a small, decorative rock, fighting to catch his breath. Mi-Reu laid flat on the cool, damp grass, doing the same while staring up at the vast blue sky.

  “Our… huf… Our kingdom is in serious trouble…” Mi-Reu finally managed to gasp out, the gravity of the ministers’ conversation settling over her.

  “Yeah…” Gi-Reu confirmed, his own breathing finally evening out.

  Suddenly, the familiar, translucent blue panel flickered into existence before Mi-Reu's eyes

  [Memory Archive System

  Balance: 500 Yang

  Cognitive Bandwidth: 0.9↑]