This book is not fiction. Not entirely. The names have changed. The setting, rearranged. But the system? Ah, the system remains untouched - a stage where criminals are performers, and the audience claps not in outrage, but in admiration. When I began writing The Minister of Misrule, I intended it to be a grotesque parody. But the deeper I went, the more the grotesque began to feel like a mirror. In our times, a politician behind bars is not a cautionary tale - he is a phoenix awaiting re-election. The prison cell has become the new parliament chamber, and the idea of "reform" has become just another item on a manifesto that nobody reads. These thirty chapters are not linear. They are revelations - fragments of a bigger truth we refuse to acknowledge. They're meant to provoke, to discomfort, and to whisper the unspeakable: that corruption doesn't end in jail; it often evolves there. I write not to mock power, but to question what we've made sacred. If satire is the last weapon left when truth becomes dangerous, then let this book be a blade.