CHICAGO - Some said that at 9 years old, Sho Yano was too young for college. Then he graduated in three years. Summa cum laude. This June, the shy 12-year-old, who speaks barely above a whisper, will defy the skeptics once again when he becomes perhaps the youngest student to enroll in a medical school. He has been awarded a full scholarship to the University of Chicago.

The pudgy cheeks of his freshman year at Loyola University are gone, but there's still plenty of growing to do. He stands 5 feet 5 inches tall, his voice hasn't yet changed and his parents rarely allow movies that aren't rated G.

His application raised red flags at some of the nation's top medical schools, a fact that perplexes Sho.

"They said I was just too young," Sho said. "One person said he thought patients would be shocked."

University of Chicago medical school officials had similar concerns but overcame them after meeting what they saw as an amazing, gentle prodigy who answered tough questions with maturity and thoughtfulness. Sho will enter one of the University of Chicago's most competitive programs, the medical scientist in-training program leading to both an MD and a PhD.

There have been reports of students as young as 14 entering medical school, but no high-profile cases of 12-year-olds. According to the Association of American Medical Colleges, fewer than 1 percent of medical school students are younger than 18.

Sho had perfect scores in the quantitative and analytical sections of the graduate school admissions test. His Medical College Admissions Test scores - at 13 or 14 out of 15 for each of the sections - make him among the best of the best.

But at a California school's interviews - his mother prefers not to identify the school - one medical school administrator accused Sho's mom of using her son to set a world record.

After years raising an exceptional son, Kyung Yano is used to accusations that she's a pushy mom. Even if it was always Sho asking to advance, some outsiders figured mom was behind it all.

"From the beginning, some psychologists said he would be miserable all through his life," she said. "They'll say again how much he'll suffer."

The Chicago admissions team had some of the same reservations about Sho that Loyola faced three years ago.

Medical school professors asked Sho a number of questions about working with patients. In each case, his answers showed a remarkable sense of empathy for patients and their families, said Dr. Lawrence Wood, dean of students and medical education at Chicago.

For example, they asked Sho what he would say to a severely ill mother who had just delivered newborn twins?

Sho paused for a long while, which is his style. The first words out of his mouth convinced Wood this demure child had the right stuff.

"She must be very scared," Sho told Wood that day.

The overwhelming feeling was that Sho should be welcomed, that Chicago had a shot at enrolling a budding scientist with great potential.

But Chicago also made some accommodations. Sho will earn his doctorate first, then complete medical school, not having regular interaction with patients until he's 17 or 18. The family will also move to Hyde Park, the Chicago neighborhood in which the medical school is located.

Sho has read the Bible several times and talks about how his decision to enter medicine comes from a desire to help people.

He rarely watches television and has never played a Nintendo video game. There are no Britney Spears posters on the bedroom wall in his home on a quiet cul-de-sac in Glenview. Instead, there were only yellowed newspaper articles on genetics research.

A music prodigy who was playing entire Mozart pieces and composing his own music by 4, Sho spends most of his free time at the piano. He also finds time, though, for swimming and tae kwon do (he's a black belt).

Sho whizzed through Loyola, studying over the summers and earning a 3.9 grade point average. (He says he didn't deserve the one B, but doesn't want to get into the details.) After spending hours in a biology laboratory studying retroviruses in soybean plants, he presents research papers at campus symposiums with such titles as: "Structural and Functional Components of Putative Plant Retrotransposon Diaspora."

As a small child, Sho's IQ measured at about 200, well above the range for geniuses. Some elite primary schools said he was too bright for them. He spent several years at a California gifted school, but his mother often supplemented with lessons at home when he still soared beyond his peers.

By 9, Sho craved bigger challenges. He desperately wanted a university education.

"I just wanted to learn at my own pace," he said in his family living room as he chased his pet rabbit. "I don't see why I have to be held back."

Although Sho had the support of top leadership at Loyola, his family saw right away how the campus was divided over his admission.

"It was rocky, rocky, rocky," Sho's mom said of his first year.

Then a 4-foot-7-inch undergraduate who needed a stool to reach the laboratory microscopes, Sho was ridiculed by some students and faculty who thought he was too young for university life.

There was also a deluge of media coverage, including a front-page story in the Chicago Tribune followed by a feature on "60 Minutes II." He wrote a book for a Japanese publisher, an account of his first year at Loyola, "The Diary of a Wonder Boy."

"People said it was a media circus and that we were trying to make a show," his mother said. Sho's mom was frustrated by the critics because she carefully limited the interviews, turning down many requests.

Yet the boy himself doesn't see a need for special treatment. He would rather just dive in and ignore all the attention.

"People just need to know my talent is from God," he said in his quiet tone one day on campus, "and I will use it for other people as much as I can."

Then with his mom and sister by his side, he walked on in his determined way, his head held down.