In July 1954, a businessman steps into the heat of Haneda Airport and hands over a perfectly normal passport, except for one detail. The gold lettering reads “Taured.” His stamps look real. His currency feels real. His confidence is absolute. The only problem is that no atlas, no reference book, and no official in Tokyo has ever heard of the place.
Authorities lock him in a guarded hotel room on the fifteenth floor with sealed windows and one door. No one enters. No one leaves. At dawn, the room is empty. Even the passport disappears from a secure locker, as if the world itself erased the mistake. What happened to the man from Taured, and what does it mean when reality refuses to hold onto proof?
