I Became a Kindergarten Teacher for Monster Babies!

At night, around 9:46 PM, Alina was sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop propped on a pillow, a warm cup of coffee cooling at her side. Her inbox chimed, and she opened a series of emails that had just arrived—each one filled with detailed documents about the education system in Dante's world.

She read slowly, her eyes scanning the neat, formal text. Unlike the human world, their society wasn't divided into countries or cities. Instead, it was split into more than sixteen plus distinct domains, each with its own ruler, culture, and subtle differences in magic use. These domains didn't function like scattered nations, but rather as tightly woven territories under an overarching law, connected by portals and trade routes.

One section explained how, at the age of fourteen, every child was required to leave home for the Academy. The Academy wasn't just a school—it was the bridge between childhood and the responsibilities of adulthood, a rigorous institution that shaped future leaders, warriors, scholars, and artisans.

The kindergarten she worked in was a relatively new concept in this world, having only been established two years ago.

The system was unusual—children from two to twelve years old were divided into three classes by age groups. It was meant not just for learning, but for building social skills and emotional strength.

Teens from eight to thirteen, the older side of the spectrum, were handled by Professor Hobb. His students were mischievous, restless, and brimming with energy. Handling them was like keeping a pack of spirited young wolves in line.

Miss Kelly and Gabriel oversaw the six- to eight-year-olds. And then there was Alina—responsible for Class D, youngest ones.

The purpose of kindergarten here wasn't to master deep academics like in the Academy; rather, it was to teach children how to interact, share, solve conflicts, and develop the discipline and curiosity needed for the rigorous training ahead. In many ways, it was about shaping their hearts before sharpening their minds.

The documents also mentioned Dante's future plans. From next year, he intended to establish a proper school to bridge the gap between kindergarten and the Academy. This would prepare the children even more thoroughly, ensuring the transition was smoother and less intimidating. The first batch to attend this school would likely be Miss Kelly and Gabriel's current students.

As Alina's eyes followed the words, a pang gripped her chest. The thought of parting with her little ones—her sweet, chaotic, lovable babies was almost unbearable. Even though they would be moving on to something bigger, the idea of not seeing them every day was like imagining an empty classroom where laughter used to echo.

Her eyes blurred with sudden tears, and she quickly blinked them away, biting her lip. She couldn't afford to let herself get carried away. So, with a deep breath, she refocused, opening a fresh document to begin drafting Class D's new schedule. Her fingers moved slowly at first, then faster, each click of the keyboard steadying her emotions.

Still… the thought lingered in the corner of her heart. They would grow, they would leave, and she would have to let them go. But until then, she would give them the happiest, safest days she could.

***

The next morning, Alina arrived at the kindergarten earlier than usual, a single sheet of paper clutched carefully in her hands. She had been up until almost midnight perfecting Class D's new schedule—adjusting timings, adding new subjects, and making sure every little box was neat and colourful. The paper still held the faint warmth from the printer, and just holding it filled her with a quiet sense of pride.

She stopped at Dante's office door, knocked softly, and waited.

"Come in," came the deep, smooth reply.

She stepped inside and stopped short. Dante was back in his true form, his eyes a striking crimson once more, the polished curve of his horns catching the morning light. But what drew her gaze this time wasn't his horns—it was his clothing. Instead of the heavy black ceremonial robes she had grown used to seeing, he wore a fitted black shirt tucked neatly into matching trousers, topped with a tailored coat. The clean lines and understated style made him look sharper, younger, and—though she'd never dare say it aloud—surprisingly modern.

"Miss Alina," he called, his voice like warm silk slipping into the stillness of the room.

"Y-yeah, sir," she replied quickly, realising a little too late that she had been staring.

His gaze flicked down at his clothes, then back to her. "These clothes are… comfortable," he said simply, as though speaking more to himself than to her. In truth, the thought still surprised him. Yesterday's human attire had been light, breathable, and easy to move in—nothing like the layered, symbolic garments of his court. There, the weight of the robes was as much about status as it was about fabric; every embroidered stitch meant to command respect. But here, in this warm little building filled with children's laughter, that weight felt unnecessary. Even his son wore modern clothing without hesitation, and Dante found himself wondering why he had clung to the old ways for so long.

"I understand, sir," Alina said with a soft chuckle. "It suits you. You look… well, it just feels like it matches this place more."

He inclined his head slightly, a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes before his gaze dropped to the paper she held. "You've brought something?"

"Yes." She stepped forward and placed the colourful schedule on his desk. The border was decorated with tiny hand-drawn shapes, each subject marked with its own small icon. "This is the new schedule for Class D."

She had noticed that the previous teacher made her schedule look inviting, so she wanted to make sure hers was just as appealing—if not better. So she stayed up until she made it better.

"Good," Dante murmured, his eyes scanning the paper. But then his gaze paused. "Moral education… music… science. These are new. Why?"

Alina smiled faintly, straightening her posture. "Moral education is important, sir—it teaches kindness, respect, and honesty. Things they'll carry long after they leave here. Science will help them understand the world around them and feed their curiosity. And music…" her eyes softened, "music teaches patience, discipline, and gives them joy. It can calm them when they're restless, or give them confidence when they're shy."