At 3 p.m., East Balang Dock, Dockworkers’ Association.
Klein wore a thick sweater, a brown-yellow jacket, and a simple soft cap, making his image closer to an ordinary investigative reporter rather than one who frequently attended banquets and interviewed people of status and position—this outfit cost him an extra 1 pound 10 soli.
At this time, he wore gold-rimmed glasses, his hair was neatly combed back, shining with oil, his face had no messy beard, only dark stubble around his lips, and his height was at least five centimeters more than usual, striving for a clear difference from the worker image of the previous night, so that those not particularly familiar would have no way to connect the two.
And in the pockets of his clothes and pants, there was no "All-Black Eye," no various charms or herbal essential oils, only a deck of tarot cards, a stack of sticky notes, a fountain pen, a wallet, some loose change, a keychain, and a fake press card.
—He didn't know Lanevus's current state, nor where the powerful Beyonders around him came from, so, to be cautious, he didn't carry any items that would arouse suspicion.
Looking towards the two-story building ahead, Klein crossed the street, pretending not to rely on a Clown's intuition to notice several gazes fixed on him.
He pushed open the door and found the dockworkers' union layout quite rudimentary: no receptionist, no spacious hall, stairs to the second floor in the center, corridors lined with offices on both sides, floors not even wooden, let alone carpeted, just plain concrete.
Klein glanced at the man guarding the door and approached him: "I'm a reporter from the Backlund Daily. I want to interview your association's staff to understand your demands and aspirations."
That man was wearing a jacket with many patches, some frayed edges even exposing dirty stuffing, and inside only a linen shirt.
Upon hearing the word "reporter," he immediately became alert and replied repeatedly: "No! We haven't organized any strike recently, no!"
"I think you misunderstand. I am sympathetic to you. I plan to do a feature report describing the things the union does to help workers and the practical difficulties it faces. Trust me." Klein used the Clown's extraordinary ability to make his eyes look exceptionally sincere.
"I see... Go find Mr. Rand. He's our propaganda committee member. Turn right, second office on the right." The man hesitated for a few seconds.
"Thank you." Klein pretended to breathe a sigh of relief and bowed slightly, feeling that the gaze watching from the dark corner had disappeared.
With a bit of cold sweat on his back, he turned right and knocked on the door of the corresponding office.
Creak, the door opened. A middle-aged man with sparse hair looked at him doubtfully: "May I ask who you are?"
"Are you Mr. Rand? I'm Stanson, a reporter from the Backlund Daily. This is my press card. I want to do a feature on the union to help you gain more attention." Klein almost believed he was a journalist.
"I am Rand." The middle-aged man glanced at the press card, hesitated with obvious reluctance: "I find it hard to believe that you reporters are here to help us."
"I was born in the East Borough. I know how miserable the lives of workers are. If you don't trust my intentions, you can follow me throughout and supervise every question I ask." Klein suddenly smiled and added, "A report I make with actual interview material is always better than a news piece based on speculation; at least you can state your views and steer things in the direction you hope for."
Rand rubbed his scalp and answered hesitantly: "Okay."
"I'll follow you throughout."
"Thank you!" Klein almost failed to control his emotions.
Afterwards, led by Rand, he entered one office after another, interviewing the staff of the workers' association according to pre-set questions.
Right corridor, no success; left corridor, no success... Klein expressionlessly climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor.
This time, Rand took him into the office directly facing the staircase entrance and introduced: "This is Mr. Stanson, a reporter from the Backlund Daily."
"He wants to interview you, but I must warn you in advance that you have the right to refuse to answer certain questions."
Klein forced a smile, stepped forward, and made a gesture to shake hands with each person in the office.
Just then, he saw a figure that felt vaguely familiar.
Although his skin had turned bronze, his ordinary round face had become angular, and his glasses had changed from round frames to gold-rimmed rectangular ones, Klein still sensed a faint familiarity through the Seer's spiritual intuition.
Immediately after, his body trembled slightly, and his smile nearly slipped.
"Ex-excuse me, I suddenly, suddenly have a stomachache. Where, where is the restroom?" Klein covered his abdomen with the hand not holding the pen and sticky notes, forcing a laugh.
Rand and the people in the office didn't suspect anything, and pointed outside: "Go out, turn left, go to the end, you'll see the sign."
Klein apologetically backed out, left the room, and quickly walked to the restroom.
After entering, he chose the stall nearest the window, sat on the toilet, and locked the wooden door.
He bent over, his mouth curled, laughing silently, seemingly unable to straighten up, laughing until a drop of crystalline liquid fell to the ground.
Klein had confirmed that that was Lanevus!