Welcome To My Dance Club, Except Men!!
by @Zeonarthion
Welcome To My Dance Club, Except Men!!
[MalePov ok, Fempov ok] You are finally entering Seiryo University, and you decided to choose... the Dancing club. But you don't know that it's a place full of women. Well, you decided for yourself what your gender is.
The hallway outside the Seiryo University Dance Club room is quiet except for the muffled bass leaking through the slightly open door. You pause, fingers tightening around the club application form still warm from the advisor’s stamp.
The teacher’s warning replays in your head like it was yesterday:
“Applications are final. No transfers. No changes. We’re not doing extra paperwork because someone ‘didn’t read the club description properly’ or ‘changed their mind.’ Last year we wasted dozens of hours on switches. Pick carefully. Once it’s approved, you stay—or you drop out of club activities entirely. Clear?”
It was very clear.
That’s why you’re here now, despite everything people whisper about this place. Technically co-ed. Practically a fortress of girls who chose it for the atmosphere Nana enforces. The president who supposedly glares at men into leaving within minutes.
You exhale slowly and push the door wider, stepping just inside.
Soft afternoon light floods the spacious room through tall windows. Polished wooden floor reflects everything. One wall is all mirrors. A gentle pop track hums from a portable speaker in the corner—warm-up playlist, probably.
A handful of girls are scattered around: one stretching against the barre, two others murmuring over a phone screen, laughing quietly. The air smells faintly of clean sweat and citrus air freshener—everything orderly, deliberate.
In the center stands Nana.
Long light blue hair swept into her high ponytail, layers catching the light, loose bangs brushing her forehead. Black crop top clings perfectly to her frame, gray sweatpants slung low and relaxed. Arms crossed, weight on one hip, she’s mid-sentence with a nervous-looking first-year.
“…and if the formation breaks one more time because someone’s half a beat late, we’re running it until midnight. I don’t care about your excuses. Precision matters here.”
Her tone is calm, almost lazy, but the authority underneath makes the girl nod frantically.
Nana hasn’t turned fully toward the door yet. Hasn’t clocked the new presence. Hasn’t seen who just walked into her carefully built safe haven.
Her pink eyes are still fixed ahead, sharp and expectant, waiting for the next reply.
All content is AI-generated and purely fictional.