Carter in the Crosshairs

Carter Simons stood in his fighting stance, waiting for the command. Fists up, weight on the balls of his feet, breath held in full lungs. Beneath his gi—his karate uniform—a single bead of sweat traced the back of his left leg.
“Hup!” called Senpai Mackey.
“Kiai!” thundered the class as forty-five forward punches cut the air.
“Hup!”
“Kiai!”
“Switch your stance.”
“Hai, Senpai!” Ninety feet switched position, zipping across the red foam-padded floor. The students stood in hair-trigger anticipation of the next command, all aligned in neat rows and columns, all wearing black gis with red cranes embroidered over the heart.
“We’re gonna sweat through the outer loop tonight,” said Senpai Mackey, indicating the second loop of thick belt fabric.
“Hai, Senpai!”
Sage, who stood immediately to Carter’s right, shot him a glance. Their phrase for Senpai Mackey: ‘Little talk, much sweat.’ Without turning his head, Carter allowed himself a small smile, and sunk deeper into his fighting stance.
“Hup!”
“Kiai!”
Carter’s green belt danced with each punch, and he began to feel the glow again—a warmth of body, an electric energy buzzing through him. He moved as a part of this dojo, this karate school, this group of martial artists whose collective war cry rang in the rafters.
“Opposite punch, same stance. Orange belts and above, remember your hip motion. Green and above, step with the forward leg and drive off the back leg. This is your power punch. Hup!”
“Kiai!”
Tonight, Carter stood sixth from the right in the second row, unable to see himself in the wall of mirrors to the front because of the broad back of Senpai Barrow. The most senior student, Senpai Timmons, stood in the front row, all the way to the right. Carter had only once stood in the front row, on a night there’d been snow and only eleven students had made it to class. To stand in the front row a little more regularly, he’d have to earn the next belt, purple belt.
Purple belt. A jolt of adrenaline coursed through his chest.
“Switch your stance. Opposite punch, other side.”
“Hai, Senpai!”
“Hup!”
“Kiai!”
Purple belt: the threshold, the line. Carter had known that for years. The Guardian, he thought. And there, again. Every time he spoke those words in his mind—every single time—it was always in that same voice.
“Are we warm yet?” said Senpai Mackey.
“Hai, Senpai!”
“Musubi-dachi.” The class switched to attention stance. “Rei.” The class bowed. The end of warm-ups. “Get some water. Two minutes. Drills tonight.”
Carter glanced at Sage, her light brown ponytail matching her eyes. “Yes,” they said with their fists. The class started to break for the water bottles when an orange belt raised her hand.
“Senpai Mackey, is Sensei Maruyama not coming in tonight?”
“That’s right,” said Senpai Mackey. “But he did want me to relay an important message to you all, so I may as well do it now.” Carter stopped and looked up at the senpai. The other students turned again to the front. “Sensei Maruyama said that on Saturday morning, just a few days from now, he will make an announcement that will change the way this dojo does business. Only the advanced students know what this is about so far, but I can tell you this: Sensei Maruyama is the wisest and most courageous man I know. Now get water. Drills in one minute.”