I Became a Kindergarten Teacher for Monster Babies!

Alina couldn't help but chuckle, shaking her head at the sight. "Look how dedicated Luna is!" she said brightly, her voice carrying just enough warmth to make Luna's chest puff up with pride. The little girl immediately lifted her chin and tried to look serious again, but the corners of her mouth twitched like she was secretly enjoying the praise.

Alina walked over to Luna's desk, leaning down slightly to peek at her work. One glance at the page, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. The handwriting looked like it had survived some kind of battlefield—letters squashed together, numbers leaning at odd angles, and a few lines that seemed to be marching off the page entirely. There was even what looked suspiciously like a stick figure holding a giant ruler in the corner, as if it had joined the fight.

Still, Alina only smiled warmly. "Very… passionate effort, Luna," she said, patting her head. "I can see you worked very hard."

Luna nodded firmly, missing the amused sparkle in Alina's eyes, and went back to scribbling with the same fierce determination—her pencil squeaking against the paper like a tiny warrior sharpening her sword.

Then she made her way to Lucien's desk. His pencil moved smoothly across the page, and Alina's lips curved into a pleased smile. His handwriting was neat—no, beyond neat—it was elegant, like he'd been secretly practicing calligraphy in the womb.

"Pretty handwriting, sweetheart!" Alina said warmly, crouching beside him so she could watch his hand at work.

Lucien's fingers gave the tiniest tremble, his shoulders stiffening. His father had never once looked at his handwriting, too busy, so having Miss Alina lean in and actually compliment it made something flutter quietly in his chest. He straightened a little, his pen strokes suddenly becoming even more careful, the loops on his letters curling just right, as though he wanted to prove he deserved her praise.

"So great!" she said with a proud smile, and his ears went faintly pink.

But then she moved on, and Lucien felt a little pang of disappointment, watching her head toward Felix's desk.

Alina frowned the moment she saw the completely empty page. "Felix? Why are you not writing notes?"

Felix, who had his elbow on the desk and his head resting on his hand like a weary businessman, gave a long-suffering sigh. "Teacher," he began gravely, "if I write… my mom will eat my book."

There was such absolute seriousness in his tone that Alina's lips twitched, and then she couldn't hold back a laugh. "Nice excuse, Felix. Very creative. But it's important to note down everything! What if you forget it in the future?"

Felix frowned in thought, then leaned over his notebook with the same reluctant determination of someone signing an unfair contract. He began scribbling at a snail's pace, occasionally glancing at her like he was silently saying, If my mom eats this, it's on you, Teacher.

Alina chuckled under her breath and moved on, wondering how on earth she'd ended up with such a dramatic class.

The next class was literature. Alina stood at the front, her new chair creaking softly under her as she settled in, ready to begin. "Alright, everyone," she began, holding up a piece of chalk like it was a magic wand, "From previous lectures, we know how to form words and make them meaningful. Today, we're going to write a small essay on—" she paused for effect, "My Best Friend."

A small gasp of horror went around the room.

"Writing again?! Teacher, that's not fair!!" Boo cried out, his little arms shooting up in the air as if she'd just sentenced him to a lifetime of hard labor.

"It's literature, Boo. We write in literature," Alina said patiently.

"But teacher…" Boo floated dramatically to her desk, leaning forward on it with pleading eyes. "What if I have too many friends? Then my paper will be too long, and my hand will fall off, and I'll have to live the rest of my life without a hand—"

"That's not how it works, Boo."

Drake joined in, eyes wide in mock panic. "Teacher, if we write about best friends, and one of our other friends sees it, won't they get angry? And then they won't share their snacks with us anymore?"

Vlad Jr. sighed dramatically from his seat. "I will only write my essay in the form of a poem. True friendships deserve rhyme."

Alina rubbed her temples, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. "It doesn't have to rhyme, Vlad Jr. And no, Drake, no one's going to stop sharing snacks with you."

"But teacher," Luna piped up seriously, "what if my best friend is me? Is that allowed?"

"Yes, Luna, you can write about yourself if you really want to."

Luna immediately looked smug, while Sable—still flipping through his notebook—raised his small hand timidly. "Teacher… I can't write big sentences… can I draw them instead?"

"Draw your best friend?" Alina asked.

He nodded. "Yes! And I will write 'This is my friend' under it so it counts."

Kelpie, who had been doodling tiny fish in the corner of his page, perked up. "Can I draw too? Words are hard when the paper gets wet."

Alina's lips twitched. "Fine, drawings are allowed… but you still need at least one sentence. And no, Boo, 'My best friend is lunch' doesn't count."

Boo pouted, sinking into his seat. "Then I have to think all over again…"

As the classroom erupted into whispers and giggles, Alina knew she had just started a forty-minute mission of keeping them on task.

And first, she went to see Rocky's essay. The little boy was hunched over his desk like he was guarding a great treasure, his stubby pencil scratching softly against the paper. When he noticed Alina standing beside him, his shoulders stiffened and his ears turned pink.

He glanced up shyly, clutching his paper to his chest for a moment before reluctantly letting her see.

At the top, in big uneven letters, he had written:

"My bestfriend is Kelpie and he is water."

Alina bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. "He is… water?" she asked gently, crouching beside him.

Rocky nodded seriously. "Yes… because he lives in water and… sometimes he smells like it."

Across the room, Kelpie's head shot up. "I do NOT smell like water!"

"Yes, you do," Rocky insisted, his face red now. "When you come out of water, you smell like water, and sometimes fish."

Several of the babies snickered. Boo clutched his stomach and rolled in the air. "Pfft—Kelpie, you're a walking fish tank!"