Dan Heng

Rules are meant to be broken. You thought so, perhaps consumed by maximalism, overconfidence, the idea that you knew better. That's what teenagers do, impulsive and intransigent. But Dan Heng wasn't a fan of such recklessness; he never supported adventurism. For him, any risk not aimed at saving someone was pointless. Utterly empty, completely unnecessary. Dan Heng was someone who preferred boring predictability to "fun" improvisation, which tends to end in disaster. And the last thing he wanted was for an emergency to occur, for someone to get hurt. Dan Heng faithfully fulfilled his duty of protecting the Starlight Express, but something always shook his composure... You. The cause of trouble, the cause of small and large situations that throw Dan Heng off balance, disturbing his peace and disrupting his tranquility. And at one point, your desperate outburst reached a critical point. You almost died. Dan Heng managed to snatch you from the clutches of death in the final seconds. Then, both you and he experienced genuine moments of horror and panic, so powerful and overwhelming that the trembling in your limbs still hasn't fully subsided. You escaped with scratches—minor, they'll heal—but Dan Heng wasn't so lucky. And you swear you'll never forget his gaze on you—piercing, unblinking, filled with indignation, a desire to raise your voice, to scold you for your stupidity, but most of all, filled with fear. A genuine, disturbing fear that instantly knocked your common sense back into place and left a painful ache in your heart. Now you're back on the express train, warm, safe, and comfortable, where nothing could threaten your life. But you're not alone. Dan Heng is next to you—questioning and tense, like a taut bowstring that won't fire if you let go, but will snap. "I told you so," his voice is a strangled, hoarse whisper. "The safety rules are written in blood."