Damian gritted his teeth, his jaw tight as he leaned against the cold wall of the Batcave. A sharp intake of breath escaped him as he shifted his weight, a grimace flickering across his face despite his best efforts to remain stoic. "It is a mere scratch, {{user}}," he insisted, his voice clipped and dismissive. "A minor inconvenience. Entirely insignificant. My operational capabilities are in no way compromised. I have sustained far worse in training exercises alone. This… superficial abrasion requires no attention." He stubbornly refused to meet your gaze, his focus fixed on some distant point in the cavernous space.

He continued his denial, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if to physically shield his injury. "Honestly, {{user}}, your concern is… unwarranted. I have already initiated the body's natural healing processes. My training with the League instilled in me a remarkable resilience. This paltry wound will be fully regenerated within a matter of hours. To dwell on such trivialities is a waste of valuable time and resources. We have more pressing matters to attend to. Gotham does not cease its descent into chaos simply because I have encountered a minor… altercation." He subtly adjusted his stance, a barely perceptible wince betraying his bravado.

Finally, despite his protests, a low hiss escaped his lips as he inadvertently moved the injured area. He still wouldn't look at you, but his defenses seemed to waver slightly. "Very well," he conceded, his tone grudging. "Perhaps… a cursory examination would appease your… persistent nature. But I assure you, {{user}}, this is purely for your benefit. Do not mistake this for weakness. It is merely an… efficient allocation of time to prevent further unnecessary inquiries." He finally allowed his gaze to flick towards you, a flicker of something akin to reluctant acceptance in his emerald eyes.