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She sneaks up on him in the cemetery.
Personal experience is bitter medicine he's never quite been good at taking, and no amount of concern from his inner circle could have made him cave to coming here accompanied. If he gets shot while he’s here, he probably deserves it.
He's thinking this when Haruka Sawamura finishes paying her respects to her mother and all but materializes next to Daigo with a baby in her arms.
He has just enough time to hastily put out his cigarette.
“Oh. Haruka-chan…”
“I was thinking you might be here. I was hoping to catch you before I went home.”
Haruka smiles at him… Encouragingly? Hopefully? Daigo realizes his expression must be one of uncertainty.
“You…?”
“I asked around. I assumed you might come by sometime soon.”
He can't really imagine who in the Tojo Clan she might have any sort of contact with, especially after everything. Saejima seems the type to reach out under the guise of helping the orphanage. Or Majima, though he might threaten to skin any of his subordinates that implied he'd gone soft like that.
It’s more surprising that Haruka would pick up the phone and answer anybody.
If it were Daigo, he'd probably have tossed his phone into the ocean on the way home to Okinawa. He's never had the sort of family that keeps people away from the yakuza, so he isn't entirely sure, but it's probably what he'd do.
The baby gurgles.
Haruka, who has somehow been smiling the whole time, brightens up even more.
“Do you want to say hi, Haruto?” She turns her whole body. Haruto has his face tucked into his mother's neck and she whispers to him to try and coax him out of the hiding spot. Little singsongs of “Ha-ru-to!” repeat until the baby notices Daigo's presence with wide eyes. Haruka holds her son's wrist with a laugh and waves it back and forth. “Can you say hi to Uncle Daigo, Haruto?”
It doesn't mean much. “Uncle” can be anything. She'd probably called half the Tojo Clan that at one point or another. Hell if he knew. What a world she lived in.
She lets go of Haruto's wrist to support him better, and as she does, he reaches his tiny hands out for Daigo.
“Oh! There, good job, Haruto!”
Daigo isn't so busted in the head that it won't make him laugh.
“Nice to meet you, Haruto-kun,” Daigo says with a reserved smile.
It's sort of a natural instinct to reach out a hand and to let Haruto grab it. Or grab at one of his fingers, at least. Haruto’s hands aren't big enough to grab much more, and Daigo doesn't think he'll ever hold Haruto's hands when they're any bigger than this.
He's really tiny.
“Haruka-chan, how old are you?”
“Hm?” Haruka stays smiling, because she likely gets that question a lot. “Oh. I'm twenty.”
When he was twenty, he was swearing loyalty to his father's family. Daigo thinks for a moment, that if the world were made right, their ages should be swapped— he's too old to be wasting his life as he is, and she is too young to have a child.
Haruka has aged, against all odds, gracefully. It's almost funny how much her face still looks like a hopeful child's. There's still a childlike plumpness to her cheeks, and when she's smiling like she is now, her eyes look so round and bright.
Daigo can understand why Haruka had been scouted by a talent agency all the way from Osaka— the yakuza never could've protected her from that. He'd seen Haruka on TV a handful of times, giving interviews with a shy smile. It's nothing like the expression she wears now. The warmth in her expression is the only thing that really makes her look any older. A mother's gaze turned towards her child.
She looks so small. Far too small to be holding her own baby. Maybe she should be Daigo's age.
Maybe it should be him with a baby in his arms.
When he'd been a child, twenty had seemed mature.
Kiryu had been about twenty when he'd chewed Daigo out for being a spoiled little brat for the first time.
Twenty isn't anything.
Then he realizes he was about Haruto's age when his own mother was twenty, and he tries not to let the old anger at his father flare up.
He is too old and Patriarch Dojima has been dead for far too long for the anger to do anything now.
Haruto makes a sound that signals he's about to start crying, then lets go of Daigo's finger and does exactly that.
“Sorry, Haruto-kun,” Daigo says with a light laugh. “Guess I've got kind of a scary face, huh?
“He's just tired,” Haruka says.
She hops a little in an attempt to adjust how he's sitting in her arms and bounces him gently. His cries don't stop. “We should probably get going. He has a big day ahead of him, and I don't know how he'll sleep on the plane.”
It's jarring to hear such mundane words come out of her mouth. He doesn't have any other… friends? Who have children. There are plenty of men in the Tojo Clan with children. He has no idea how well any of them sleep on planes, or in cars, or at home, and he never will.
“Haruka-chan,” Daigo says, since it may be his last chance to. “If Morning Glory ever needs anything, don't be afraid to call. We— I'd be happy to help however I can.”
Haruka shakes her head. “Thank you, that's very kind, but we'll be fine. We always get by.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know how to find me.” He assumes so, anyway.
Haruto wails again, cranky and exhausted.
“Goodbye, Daigo-san. Thank you.” Haruka bows her head. “I'll let you pay your respects in peace.”
He can’t tell her he doesn't think Kiryu is dead, even if he's certain she feels the same.
He can't start spinning conspiracy theories in front of the graves of both of their parents— and the man that killed them both, for that matter. He can't undo whatever careful knots she tied around the story to send to Okinawa over the phone. He can't drag her back into the fray when she's finally, finally escaped, and Kiryu has given him a job.
So he says “Bye, Haruka-chan.”
She rushes towards the street where a rented car is parked— Date drove her here— she gets into the back seat after buckling her crying son into some fancy, safety-rated car seat some friend of Kiryu's bought for her. Daigo watches her look back at him through untinted windows and wave one final time before disappearing behind the cemetery wall.