Being a kindergarten teacher in the boonies with a salary under ten thousand baht?
What the hell was I supposed to live on—air and dreams?
I'd burned through a million baht on tuition just to chase this "noble calling" of being a teacher, and all I got was this broke-ass, idealistic lifestyle.
Why kindergarten, you ask?
Probably because of the way I look: barely hitting 160 cm, pale as a ghost with that half-Chinese, half-Thai face—big Thai eyes stuck on a Chinese snow-skin body. To top it off, I've still got braces, which makes me look like I've been stuck in high school purgatory for years. No one would ever guess I'd already graduated.
Dignity of a teacher? Zero. Zilch. Nada.
And getting here wasn't a walk in the park either. My family had been pushing accounting on me forever. But no—I had to rebel. I loved little kids too damn much, so I ran headfirst into Education school. Parents cut me off financially, so I took out loans, even got the ultimatum: "Help with the family business or get nothing."
And me? Big mouth that I am, I snapped back: "Fine. I'll become a teacher, pass the exam, and I won't take a single baht from you."
Well. Guess who's now stuck living broke in a countryside hellhole where the promo pics look nothing like reality?
At first, I thought it was heaven. Then came the truth:
A dirt road that turned the whole village blood-red.
A wooden school that creaked like it was about to collapse with every step.
And the teacher's housing? A rotting shack that looked like it had lost all will to live.
Seriously… what year did they even take those brochure photos?
Or was it from a past life?
But hey—kids are cute no matter where you go, right?
Uncle Ji (Ji who?) loves all the children~
Except… I'm not "Ji." So who the hell am I?
Name's Looktan Wang, twenty-four years old, fresh-out-of-the-oven contract teacher, born and raised in Bangkok's Chinatown. A city boy with a bleeding heart, full of ideals and a dream of "building the nation by raising happy, good little kids."
—Cue the angels weeping, halo glowing, tears streaming down their cheeks.—
I ditched the family business without looking back. Even though my parents fought me tooth and nail, nothing could stop me from chasing the teacher dream. The second I graduated, I picked a school and signed up on the spot.
Problem was, the market in Bangkok was flooded with teachers. And with my baby-faced look? Nobody took me seriously. So I got shipped off to the provinces—
and when I say "countryside," I mean the middle of nowhere. The kind of place that makes you question if you've been cursed in a past life.
…
This was Wat Sra Si village. Deep in the mountains, surrounded by jungle. The only road in was a red-dirt track that stained everything it touched.
No nightlife. No cafés. No trendy coffee shops.
The only "entertainment" was the temple's loudspeaker blasting morning and evening chants.
No young people either—just middle-aged uncles and wrinkly grannies. At school, there weren't even ten teachers, all of them twice my age or more.
So yeah… my only hope was that the little kids here would bring some light, some sparkle, some joy back into the bleak, bone-dry world of this city-born kindergarten teacher.
But then…
Man, this school is stacked with big shots.
Everywhere I turn—ตัวตึง central.
At least no one here gives me crap for being a sweet, soft-looking guy. But, being a kindergarten teacher comes with expectations: polite, soft-spoken, shy, and demure.
The real me, though? Sharp-tongued, ready to bite back the moment someone tries to screw me over.
In times like these, everyone has to "play the game" to survive—bow on the outside, cuss on the inside, and if all else fails… strip down and play dumb to save face.
That's my specialty!
…
A small, sky-blue motorbike sputtered into the school yard, parking in its usual spot. A tiny figure in khaki uniform dragged his feet toward the classroom, shuffling along just like the preschool kids wobbling in behind him.
The lifeless homeroom teacher, looking like he'd left his soul at home, was immediately greeted by the shrill, cheery voice of an older female colleague.
"Teacher Looktan, why the long face? Pay day was just yesterday—smile a little!"
The middle-aged teacher waddled over, lipstick thick, face plastered with makeup, grinning ear to ear.
"Morning, Ms. Wanlapa. New teachers only get nine thousand baht a month. What's there to be happy about, huh?"
"Why, nine thousand is plenty! Free housing, free rice. You live alone—what else do you need? Out here, there's nothing to spend money on anyway, ho ho ho~"
She chuckled, utterly unbothered. Easy for her to say—twenty years in, pulling a fat paycheck, house and car in her name.
Me? I had student loans breathing down my neck. What choices did I have? This village was so remote the road in was still unpaved, nothing but bloody-red dirt. The kids were wild, scruffy, loud-mouthed terrors. Forget the dream of teaching chubby-cheeked, well-mannered little angels—these gremlins drove me up the wall every day.
Today was payday. After paying off my loan, I had four thousand left to live on. Four. Freaking. Thousand.
Good thing the school provided rice, since everyone here farmed. At least I wouldn't starve. Guess I'd better stock up on instant noodles and canned fish.
…
After school, the pale, khaki-clad figure from the city strolled through the village market, standing out like a neon sign among the locals. Everyone knew him by now, and most watched him with fond amusement.
I wandered along the stalls, pondering what I could cook tonight without burning through my wallet. Squatting down, I carefully picked through vegetables, trying to see which bunch was bigger.
"I went to the temple the other day, the monk gave me holy water—told me the number's 3 and 4."
"Well, I rubbed the spirit tree at Granny Maen's house, got 6 and 9."
"Last night, I dreamed of a dead man. He whispered zero. Zero."
The chatter swelled louder and louder as more villagers gathered, all buzzing over one thing.
Lottery.
Not the legal kind either—underground lottery. That's what had the whole village in a frenzy.
"Teacher, have you bought your number yet? Got any good picks to share?"
The vegetable granny nudged me with a toothless grin.
"I've never played, Grandma."
"Try it, you never know! See that lady there? That's Yai Sri, my friend—she's the seller. She even lets you buy on credit! No one's ever been stiffed; if you win, she pays right away. You can bet two baht or two thousand, if you've got the guts. And if you win, Teacher, you won't have to squat here picking vegetables by the handful—you could buy the whole damn market!"
She spat a stream of red betel juice onto the ground, before turning her pitch into a full-on sales ad for her friend.
And me? Drowning in debt, desperate for a break? My eyes practically lit up.
"I just started teaching, Grandma. Don't have much money… and I don't know how to play underground lottery."
"Don't worry, leave it to me. I'll talk to Yai Sri. You don't even have to pay upfront. Now listen, here's how it works…"