"Here." Hayate tapped his right bicep, casually. He was wearing his spare uniform shirt and there was no gash in the fabric to betray him. Hah, points for him. "It's clean. I've bandaged it, sensei," he teased, gently. "I'm fine. Really. Just tired and in need of a hot supper."

See, he needed to leave. And rest. Come on Iruka, stamp the cursed paper already.