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The evening cycle aboard the Astral Express passed with its usual calm. March 7th had once again challenged Dan Heng to a game of chess. “For morale,” she declared, which everyone quietly understood meant for revenge.
The match began in the common lounge. Outside the viewport, stars streaked by in ribbons of gold; Himeko leaned casually against the bar counter, polishing a mug. Her eyes were darting between the players with amused interest, muttering under her breath commentary only she could hear.
March moved her pawns with dramatic flourish, as if leading cavalry across a battlefield. Dan Heng’s responses, however, were uncanny—he slid his pieces across the board with unhurried precision without ever glancing down. Instead, his gaze was fixed entirely on the datapad in his hands, fingers shifting knights and bishops as if the board were an extension of the device he studied.
“Are you even trying?” March demanded.
“Yes,” he said, voice calm, eyes fixed on the datapad. “And succeeding.”
She groaned as her knight vanished into checkmate before her third move could gain traction. Only later did anyone notice that the datapad was not his own.
Himeko arched an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Verifying a data upload? Or spying on Stelle?” she asked lightly.
“Correction,” Dan Heng replied. “She requested I confirm the logs were complete.”
Entirely plausible. Entirely him.
And yet the sync window had long finished. His attention was elsewhere. One glance at the screen revealed a document that immediately drew his analytical curiosity: “Comprehensive History of Belobog Waste-Management Units, Volume III.”
March leaned over, aghast. “Wait—trashcans? You’re reading about trashcans?”
Dan Heng didn’t look up. “It is a surprisingly detailed archive.”
“Dan Heng!” March spluttered, half-scandalized, half-amused.
Himeko chuckled softly into her coffee cup, glancing at March with a smirk. “Let him be, March. Knowledge is knowledge. And honestly… this is kind of fascinating.”
Curiosity — or disbelief — pulled everyone closer. The article chronicled several centuries of receptacle design, from early snow-steel bins to collapsible alloy units used in subterranean sectors. What was unmistakably Stelle’s were the annotations: neat highlights, margin notes like ‘possible hiding spot if ambushed’ and ‘good acoustics when kicked.’
March could barely contain herself. “She took notes?”
Dan Heng turned the digital page with the same calm efficiency he’d used to capture March’s king. “Her observations are thorough.”
“Thorough?” March sputtered. “They’re about trash!”
Himeko tilted her head, grinning. “I mean… It’s detailed research. I approve. This is art.”
He finally looked up from the screen, gaze steady, almost imperceptibly amused. “To understand the ordinary is to understand civilization’s priorities. Waste reveals value.”
March blinked. “You sound like you’re giving a lecture.”
“Perhaps I am,” he replied, sliding a pawn forward without so much as glancing at the board.
Himeko murmured, with mock solemnity: “Check.”
March looked down, horrified. Her king had been cornered again.
“Impossible—how? You weren’t even—”
“Pattern recognition,” Dan Heng said simply, already moving his next piece.
The match ended in under eight minutes. March muttered darkly about librarians with supercomputers for brains and hurried to find Stelle to warn her that her trashcan obsession now had a live audience.
Dan Heng calmly rearranged the chessboard back into its starting positions. His eyes drifted to the viewport, then flicked briefly toward Stelle’s datapad. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though he immediately looked away as if nothing had happened.
March returned moments later, dragging Stelle along. “You have to see this,” she said, pointing at the datapad. “Your trashcan notes are public property now.”
Stelle’s eyes widened. Dan Heng glanced at her, and in the faintest corner of his mouth, a subtle, knowing lift appeared. She caught it, curiosity flickering in her expression. She noticed he had been quietly observing—not judging, just noting the precision in her eccentricities, and for a heartbeat, she felt unusually seen.
With a touch of dignity, she declared,
“…And Volume III, did you finish it?”
March nearly choked. “Seriously?!”
“There’s a prequel,” Stelle said seriously. “And a sequel draft. It’s a very deep lore.”
Dan Heng’s brow ticked up by a fraction. “You compiled them yourself?”
Stelle shrugged, wandering over to retrieve her datapad—but she didn’t take it yet. “I was bored in Belobog,” she said, tone casual. “And the trashcans were the only ones who listened.”
Himeko laughed quietly behind her mug, rolling her eyes at the absurdity. “Of course, why wouldn’t they? True companions, those bins.”
Dan Heng, however, looked back at the datapad thoughtfully. “Your annotations were… meticulous.”
“Thanks,” Stelle said with mock pride, leaning on the edge of the table. “It’s called dedicated field research. You wouldn’t understand.”
He met her gaze. “On the contrary. I understand very well.”
That made her pause. The usual spark of mischief in her eyes softened just slightly—curiosity flickering there instead. “So… what’s your conclusion, archivist?” she asked. “Find anything profound in my trash?”
He held her gaze a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Perhaps,” he said finally. “A reflection of what people choose to throw away… and what they keep.”
March groaned. “Oh, come on! Are you flirting with garbage philosophy now?!”
Stelle’s mouth twitched into a grin. “Hey, don’t insult my research partner.”
Dan Heng blinked once. “Partner?”
“You read it. That’s collaboration.”
That earned her the faintest exhale from him—something close to a laugh. Himeko, meanwhile, leaned on the counter and smirked knowingly, muttering, “These two are ridiculous… and yet, somehow perfect together.” she said, shaking her head with a quiet laugh.
He turned back to the chessboard, resetting the pieces with quiet precision.
“Next time,” he said, “you can test your theories on March. She generates a great deal of verbal waste.”
“Hey!” March protested, brandishing a pawn at him.
Himeko sighed in mock despair and muttered, “You three are going to turn the Express into a debate club.”