I Became a Kindergarten Teacher for Monster Babies!-Chapter 504 Preparation

"Okay!!!" Boo shouted instantly, floating a little higher than usual, as if excitement alone was lifting him. His tail wiggled behind him, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. "I will bring my sponsor!!!" he added, giggling in that mysterious, dramatic way.

Meanwhile, Drake sat at his desk, biting his chubby thumb nervously, his brows scrunched so tightly they almost touched. "I forgot what I wrote," he mumbled, his voice full of genuine panic. "I hope I didn’t write something stupid... or draw fire dragons in my math paper again... or write my mom is the strongest dragon in my essay... or... oh no... what if I wrote teacher is the coolest and not my dad..."

His tail slowly drooped.

Kelpie leaned closer, whispering loudly, "Did you write answers or just vibes?"

"I DON’T KNOW," Drake whispered back, horrified.

Across from them, Luna sat very straight, her hands folded properly on her desk, but her ears were slightly lowered and her tail was stiff, which for her was basically the highest level of stress. She stared forward, muttering under her breath, "My results need to be good. They need to be very good. Otherwise, what will my father think of me? My reputation will be ruined. My pack will think I am weak. I will never emotionally recover from this."

Rocky slowly slid a tiny pebble toward her. "For emotional support," he whispered.

Luna looked at the pebble.

Then at Rocky.

Then very quietly took it and put it in her bag. "Thank you," she muttered.

Vlad Jr. closed his book slowly and spoke in his usual calm, composed tone, but even he looked slightly thoughtful. "Results are important," he said. "But improvement is more important than perfection."

Boo gasped. "That sounded like teacher speech."

"I read leadership books," Vlad Jr. said simply.

Sable sat quietly, legs tucked under his chair, fingers playing with the edge of his sleeve. He wasn’t saying anything, but his eyes kept going to Alina, like he was checking if she was worried.

Lucien noticed and nudged him lightly. "You did well," he said simply.

Sable nodded once, relaxing a little.

Alina clapped her hands softly once. "Hey," she said gently. "Results are not there to scare you. They are there to show you where you are strong... and where I need to help you more. That’s all."

Drake slowly lowered his thumb. "So... if I wrote something stupid... you won’t abandon me?"

"I will correct you," she said, smiling.

"Acceptable," Drake said seriously.

Boo floated closer to her desk. "If my sponsor comes... can they also see my results?"

"Yes," she said patiently.

"Even if I accidentally drew scary ghosts in my language paper?"

"...Yes."

"Even if the ghost was very realistic?"

"Yes, Boo."

"Okay, good," he said, relieved.

The room slowly grew softer again, nap time calm settling over them like a blanket. Some babies were already yawning. Some were resting their heads on desks. Some were still whispering about results, parents, and tomorrow.

After the babies left, the kindergarten felt strangely bigger and quieter, like the building itself was taking a deep breath after holding too much energy all day. Alina walked toward the training room with two staff members from the kindergarten, her steps slower than usual, her mind already running ahead to tomorrow.

The training room doors opened with a soft creak, and inside, the space still looked half empty, waiting to be turned into something welcoming. Sunlight slipped through the tall windows and stretched across the polished floor, dust particles floating lazily in the warm glow.

The two staff members stood behind her, also looking around, waiting for instructions.

Alina clasped her hands together slowly, thinking.

"We will arrange tables and chairs around the room," she said gently, turning toward them. "Parents and babies should be able to sit together. And we should leave space in the center... so babies don’t feel trapped."

They nodded and immediately left to bring furniture from storage.

And just like that, she was alone.

Alina walked further inside the empty room, her heels making soft tapping sounds that bounced back at her from the walls. The sunlight warmed one side of her face as she stood near the window and looked out for a moment, grounding herself.

Then she exhaled slowly.

The nervousness crept in quietly, like cold air slipping through a slightly open window.

She was so comfortable around babies. Their emotions were simple and honest. If they were upset, they showed it. If they were happy, they glowed. If they trusted you, you could feel it instantly.

Adults were different.

Adults watched.

Adults judged silently.

Adults remembered everything you said.

Tomorrow she wouldn’t just be their teacher.

Tomorrow she would be standing in front of mothers and fathers who trusted her with their children, who would be watching her carefully, measuring her with their eyes, with their expectations.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the file in her hands.

What if they thought she was too young?

What if they thought she wasn’t experienced enough?

What if she made a mistake while explaining their child’s progress?

She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes for a second, taking a slow, steady breath.

The silence of the empty room wrapped around her, but it didn’t feel scary. Just... big. Like a stage before a performance. Like a story before words are written.

She walked to the center of the room and stood there, imagining tomorrow.

"I can do this," she whispered softly to herself.

Soon, the quiet training room began to fill with movement as staff members arrived, carrying folded tables against their shoulders and stacks of chairs balanced carefully in their hands. The hollow echo of their footsteps bounced softly across the empty floor, and Alina straightened instinctively, pushing down the small nervous flutter inside her chest as she stepped forward to guide them.

"Please place the table right over there. Yes... yes, move a little and place the chairs over there," she instructed gently, stepping closer and pointing to the sunlit section of the floor. "Not too close to the window. Some Parents might feel uncomfortable if the light is directly in their eyes."